Rift 6: Guilt
By RocketMan
>lebontrager@iname.com<
Co-Producer: Melissa Kennedy >scullee@email.com<

Disclaimer: Mulder and SCully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.

~~~~
Guilt
~~~~

"His whole life was never bringing it home
dealt with murder and fear on his own
worked out of love and worked out of rage
getting shot at for minimum wage."
--"Peacemaker" Cowboy Mouth

~~~~

When his car crunched up the gravel drive and slid into his parking spot,
Mulder saw the ambulance outside, the paramedics still waiting by the
door.

He felt a cold grip of fear crush him tight.

If Scully hadn't come to the door, if no one had let them in. . .

"What are you doing?" he yelled, running up the walk and shoving them
aside to paw at the lock with fumbling fingers and a key.

"Sir, we aren't allowed to break in your home without probable-"

He growled and shoved open the door, calling her name as he ran through
the foyer, dashed through the kitchen, living room, then to their bedroom.

"Scully!" he screamed, feeling an ache throb in him.

He darted into the computer room, just to check, he told himself, just to
check, she shouldn't be there, shouldn't-

she was.

Everything was red, blood and red and dark, spreading all along the wood
floors like a river.

"Dana..."

He ran to her, the medics coming through his house like an angry and
vengeful spirit, his hands gathering her up to him with sobs.

"Dana, Dana, Dana. . .baby, oh baby. . ."

They pushed him gently from her, taking her vital signs as he explained
her pregnancy. By the look on their faces, he could tell the baby was
dead, and that Scully was following.
~~~~

Grace was sitting far from them, her face a mask of uncaring and
unfeeling, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at them.

Mulder didn't even try to reach out to her, letting Mrs. Scully attempt to
guile her with promises of candy and love.

When Dr. Bellcamp came in to the small, private waiting room, Mulder
jumped to his feet, his heart thudding loudly, fear like a finger gagging
his throat.

Bellcamp nodded to the family, shaking Mulder's hand.

"As you probably guessed, the baby didn't make it."

Mulder had been preparing himself for the news, but it still wrenched
through him like a knife in the gut, making it hard to breathe right.

He leaned a hand against the wall, closing his eyes.

"And Scully?"

Bellcamp's frown made his eyes grow wide, made his breath quicken, made
him want to scream.

"What about my wife?" he whispered, fear lacing his voice.

"Ah. . .Scully?"

He gave a wild look to the doctor, then his face dawned in understanding.

"Yeah, I call her Scully. . .sorry."

Bellcamp smiled brightly and patted his shoulder. "She's going to be fine.
We did the surgery and got everything without any problems. We had to give
her a lot of blood to replace what she lost, but she's all right. I can
let you see her, now, if you'd like."

Mulder followed him eagerly down the hall, ignoring the ache in him over
his baby, knowing that he had to be strong for Scully, had to let her know
she could talk to him without worrying about how he would feel.

Mulder knew that he had to be right beside her, had to be there for her to
make up for all the times when he hadn't, when his own selfishness had put
her to the back of his mind. 

If she was going to reach out for him, he'd have to be strong.

The door was closed as they came to it, and Dr. Bellcamp let him in with a
silent nod. Mulder slipped inside and came to her bedside, watching her
breathe. Her stomach was almost back to normal, if the thin slip of a
waist was at all normal, and her hands were covering her belly, as if in
silent lament.

"Mulder?" she whispered, in a voice so soft that only he would have heard
the faint impression of his name on her breath.

"It's me, Scully."

She opened her eyes and he saw the tears there, the sky blue of her eyes
overshadowed by such pain, such an incredible depth of sorrow.

He melted into her, pulling her up to him, burying his head into her neck
with his own tears trickling down her skin.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry. It's my fault. I should have been in bed, like
the doctor said. . ."

He shushed her with his lips, pressing gently into her with all the raw
force, all the blinding pain, and all of his intense love.

She began sobbing into his lips, her tears salty and bitter, a flood in
their love.

Her arms pulled him so that he almost fell into the bed with her, and he
leaned against the railing, bruising his ribs and pushing his breath away.

"Scully. . .it's nothing you did. We knew this might come, knew that this
would happen.

She nodded softly into him.
~~~~

The room was dark and silent as she watched her daughter walk through the
door, her lips pouting in a look that was so normal, so everyday, that
Scully smiled and held out her arms.

Grace was hesitant only for a moment, and then she ran to her mother,
throwing her body into the bed, letting Scully pick her up and hug her
tightly.

"Everything's okay, now, right Mommy?" she said softly, her body curled
around Scully's

Mulder patted her back and smoothed her shirt down, watching them.

"Mm, I'm okay, baby. I'm okay."

Grace nodded and pulled her head back, sitting up in the bed and
extracting herself from her mother's embrace.

Mrs. Scully walked over and hugged her daughter, a lingering touch that
made Scully feel her loss so keenly, so completely, that she began to
shudder with tears.

Mulder's reassuring hand made her halt, made her find her calm again and
cease the need in her to weep.

They knew this had been coming, knew that this would probably happen.

She had all that time to prepare herself, and she had a previous
experience, so she knew what would happen. It should have been easier than
this.

Grace played with the sheets, then hopped down, moving over to sit in one
of the chairs, letting Mulder and Gramma crowd around her mother. She was
a bit afraid to touch her, knowing what had happened, how the baby had
died.

She rested her chin on her hands and watched her family, watched her
mother's tense eyes and her father's shaking head, Gramma's concern.

Her baby brother was dead, gone before she even got a chance to see him,
gone before she could make up her mind whether or not she even wanted to
share being the baby. It wasn't fair.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget it.
~~~~

Mulder was sitting beside her, asleep, his hands resting on her stomach,
his cheek pressed against the sheets, even drooling a little. She was glad
he was getting some rest, even if she couldn't find sleep a comfort.

Too many dreams crowded in on her, dreams where she was Rachel, pregnant
and dying while giving birth and Mulder there, sobbing over her as she
named the baby Sorrow's son.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through his hair, oily now because
she'd been touching him so much, reassuring herself that he was there,
just as he promised. She had told him to go home with Grace and her
mother, but this time, he hadn't, even though this time she had really
meant it.

She felt touched that he stayed, felt comforted by his sleeping form even
though he had wanted to stay awake for her, just in case she needed him.

She opened her eyes and thought about her little boy, letting herself
indulge in the tears for a few moments, telling herself she could control
them again when she had to.

The pain in her belly was quieted by Mulder's hands, but in the computer
room, surrounded by books and wood floors, she had felt the knife twist in
her, felt the betrayal of her body as she fell to her knees.

The sob came from low in her throat as she recalled the feel of the Brutus
stab through her abdomen, the ripping that had made the blood pour from
her like the Red Sea.

She reached for Mulder's hand and clutched it, every second of that heart
stopping moment etched so deeply in her that she couldn't breathe.

Only Mulder's head shifting on her bed caught her attention and broke her
from the spell of that memory, bringing her back to the hospital room,
back to the ache.

A little boy, so tiny and small, not even looking like a baby yet.

She had wanted a boy, wanted a little boy with blue blankets and adoration
in his eyes when he looked at his mother. She wanted to take that baby,
her *own* baby, and put it to her breast and feed him, give him life and
love and laughter, name him Isaac, just as Sarah had named her much
yearned after baby boy the same.

Or maybe Joseph, as Rachel's first son was named, and have the memory of
that shared pain to guide her through the days and nights of his life.

She was weeping now, not hard sobs, but continuous streams of tears that
never seemed to end, never wanted to drain from her completely.

Her hitching breath brought Mulder awake and he looked once to her, then
surrounded her with his arms, and she found. . . she found she couldn't
stop them.

Ever again, she couldn't stop the tears for their baby's death.

Mulder didn't cry, simply held her, let her pain overflow his own, let her
body melt to his.

She shook him off after a minute and smiled softly, then kissed his cheek.
He was watching her with a sleepy look, his eyes bleary.

"Go back to sleep, Mulder."

He needed to sleep, but he wanted to stay up with her, to talk to her
about all the things they wouldn't have a chance to do with their son, but
her eyes were begging him to let her have her peace.

He laid his head back down, hands going back to her waist as if to hold
her in bed.

"I love you, Scully."

She touched his forehead with a finger, then laid back into the bed, her
hands cradling his head.

"I'm really going to be okay, Mulder," she whispered, even though she
didn't feel like it.
~~~~
~~~~

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."
--From "Song To Myself" Walt Whitman

~~~~

She was crying again, crying in his sleep, watching his eyes twitch as he
dreamed, and stroking his hair.

But when tried to wake and give her comfort, she smiled and told him to
sleep again.

It was a nightmare, a horror he did not want as reality.

But as he woke for real, as his eyes opened to see her face, she *was*
crying, she was trying to smile through her pain and tell him nothing was
wrong.

He had to be strong for her, but she wasn't going to let him, she wouldn't
cry to him, wouldn't hold out her arms and say "I hurt."

"Scully," he whispered and traced her tears with a finger, leaning in to
kiss her softly.

She pulled up, making his lips land on her chin as she pushed away her
tears.

"I'm doing all right, Mulder."

He looked into her, deep down past all the warnings she sent out from her
eyes, trying to see the truth.

"I have to. . .I have to get through this inside, Mulder."

Mulder sat back in the chair, pulling his hands from her arms, rubbing a
finger along his lip for a moment.

"What do you mean, inside?"

She ducked her head and gave him a sigh for an answer, telling him without
words that he should know.

"Inside? You mean, you . . .don't want me here?"

Her gaze locked on his chest, an old habit when she didn't want to meet
his eyes, when she tried to pretend that she had to think very carefully
about her words.

"Not that. I just need some time to myself, Mulder. Where I can just purge
it all in-"

"Why can't we talk about this, Scully? What keeps us from sharing all this
pain, all this-"

"Mulder."

He stopped, letting his eyes drop.

"Mulder, I can't be there for you right now, much as I need and want to.
You have to give me time so that I *can*."

His eyes held that wounded animal look as he struggled to keep his face
from twisting with tears, his dark brown pupils narrowing to tiny dots as
he looked away, towards the ceiling.

"Ah. . ." He cleared his throat, angrily wiped the choked feeling from him
with a hand across his eyes.

She was watching him, vainly pleading with him to understand, to let it
go.

"Is that how you think of me?" he whispered tightly, all the knife
twisting, gut wrenching things that had happened just bubbling over.

She opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head.

"Fine. You need space to absorb this. I see, I understand. But I *don't*
have to wait around until you figure it all out, Scully. And I'm not. I'm
sorry."

He stood slowly, waiting with each breath for her to say, <no, wait, come
hold me,> but she said nothing, she offered nothing.

If she wasn't willing to let him stay, how was he to be there for her?

The door was heavy as it swung back, and he felt as if it were kicking him
from the room, telling him good riddance.

She wanted space. 

She'd get it.
~~~~

The fear pierced through her the moment he disappeared from sight.

How could he be walking away from her?

She blinked and turned in the bed, pulling her knees to her chest and
closing her eyes.

How could he? Hadn't she made him promise to *stay with her*?

Scully let out a ragged sob and clutched at the sheets, shivering in the
emptiness. 

The sterile lights shone upon her with stark reality, and as she lay
there, she could only think that this was how it would always be.

This was how it always turned out.

He misunderstood everything she tried to share with him, every instance
she recalled, and every thought that passed through her mind. His own
guilty nature made him take the blame, when all she wanted was a presence
to remind her of all the good.

Just stay by her side, it was all she had asked.

She felt bitter, sick and void, as if a hole had seeped in her, the same
way her blood had pooled on that wooden floor.

She had been drained of something so vital, so life sustaining, that she
wasn't sure she could make it back.

And Mulder had abandoned her to the darkness.
~~~~

The chairs were softer in the waiting room, with padded seats and
comfortable armrests, making it easier for him to fall asleep.

When it became apparent to him that she didn't want him there, that she
thought he was only needy and selfish, searching for comfort, he had tried
to leave the hospital entirely, to go home and sleep.

Something wouldn't let him go.

So he sat there, odd looks coming from all the nurses, maybe even disgust,
because he was out there, and Scully was alone.

She asked for it! he screamed to himself.

She told him, right there, <Mulder I can't have you needing me right now.>

As if that was what he was there for, needing her.

Needing her.

Everything good in him *was* her, was all her love and happiness and
forgiveness, but he didn't suck out her own life to make his. 

She really thought he was there seeking her support and edification. She
really thought he was one huge emotional leech, clinging to her as if he
could never grieve over his loss without dragging her down.

He had tried to be strong! to be right and good and *there* for her, just
as she asked.

God, what the hell was wrong with her?
~~~~

There was silence in her dream, and a hot sun making her sweat between the
folds of her robe, the sand sticking to her drenched body.

As she groaned and bore down, the man came out and watched her giving
birth, his face dull and without emotion, his eyes flickering over the
blood.

It was Mulder, she saw, as he moved from the shadows.

She was Rachel, dying while giving life, her breath not coming, her life
stopping just as the baby cried, long and loud and piercing.

"Name him Ben," she whispered, as Mulder snatched the boy away, forgetting
her forever.
~~~~

When she woke, the dream was still too real for her to make sense of the
silence and emptiness around her.

Mulder had her baby boy.

She shook her head and closed her eyes again, supressing the nightmare
with a shudder, and then looked towards the door.

A nurse chose that moment to bustle in, checking her IV again, making sure
it hadn't come undone, and smiling softly, not too bright, not too fake.
It made her feel a tiny bit better.

"I was wondering. . ." she said, catching the nurse's sleeve before she
could leave.

The woman's eyes turned to her in friendly regard, patting her hand.

"Could you ask my husband to come back?" she said softly, praying that
Mulder was outside, waiting for her to come to her senses.

"Oh, that tall fellow out there? I thought he'd gotten spooked. I'll go
get him."

She turned and swished through the door, her white pants and white lab
coat reminding Scully of far away years when she had been the one to check
on patients, not be a patient herself.

Mulder's head cleared the doorway, his eyes burning through her like coal,
his hands deep in his pockets, his entire body screaming - you hurt me.

She held out her hand and grabbed his arm as he came closer, her fingers
tight around his bone and muscle and skin, as if her touch could imprint
upon him the truth, the reality of her words.

Mulder was looking at her, so forlorn, so far away, that she wanted to cry
again, wanted to bury him  deep into her, so deep he could never be hurt
by her own words again.

"Mulder," she said softly.

His eyes gentled, his mouth relaxed into a slight smile, hands coming up
to take her by the shoulders.

It was her apology, and his own, mixing in the air and forming some sweet
concoction to make her dizzy with it.

He leaned over, hugging her tight and fast, murmuring nonsense that
soothed her soul.

When she pulled back, he traced her eyes with a finger, then palmed her
head, smoothing down her hair into a managable tangle.

"Sleep, Scully. I'll be right here."

Somehow, he understood.

Somehow, her own miscommunication and his own tendency towards selfishness
hadn't gotten in the way of love, hadn't held them too far away.

She closed her eyes and turned on her side, feeling his hands come to rest
on her arm, on her waist, feeling possessed by something and someone far
greater than she.

Dreams slipped by, and she remembered nothing.
~~~~

"Why does she sleep so much?" he asked softly, looking up from the chair
into Dr. Bellcamp's soft eyes.

"It's her way of dealing with it, and her body's way of fixing itself
again."

Mulder knew this, in some remote past life, where studying psychology had
been a means to an end, a way to unleash all the hurt and rage within
himself over his sister's disappearance. That study had told him, reminded
him now even, that grief was everlasting, but mourning had stages, phases
to wade through like steps to recovery.

How could she recover from death? He was finding it hard to see the truth
in all the things he'd studied, finding it hard to accept.

She shouldn't be sleeping all the time, not now. Before. . .the last time,
she hadn't slept for a week.

She gone home, curled up in their bed and refused to move for a few days,
but not this, not the forced smiles with hands flitting to his hair, not
the sleep with rampant dreams, not the look of fear in her eyes.

He nodded though.

He nodded and gave Bellcamp a rough, shaky smile, then looked back to
Scully.

She shouldn't be dreaming, shouldn't be so close to him, and yet never
there.

The lights from the hospital room cast sickly glows across her face,
sitting heavily on her eyes, causing shadows to creep around her nose and
mouth. She was breathing lightly, one hand curled around his forearm, her
fingers ocassionally digging deep into his skin.

Reaching out, he traced her eyelids with a gentle touch, then the fine
birdlike bones of her nose and cheeks, then across her lips, enchanted by
her sleep.

She sighed and arched into his touch, pressing a kiss on the pad of his
thumb.

"Scully?"

"Mmmm....."

He smiled, ran a soft hand through her hair, pulling it from her face.

"Scully?"

In a brief moment, where dreams faded and reality slipped into its place,
she thought he was there to kill her, and she cried out, grabbing hold of
him.

"I like you too, Scully. But not here at the hospital," he joked, easing
her from him with a smile.

He knew she was afraid, but played it down for the doctor standing there,
and the nurses gathered to see her off.

She held to his hand tightly though, letting him ease her out of the bed,
spurning the wheelchair as she protested that she was fine. Not hardly
sore at all.

He let her put up this front, for the others, for Grace watching them, for
her mother holding on to her upper arm. He smiled and waved to the medical
staff, holding her up with a strong grip as she shot grateful looks his
way.

Grace and Mrs. Scully went home ahead of them, in one car, while he took
his time buckling her in, smoothing her hair, arranging her light jacket
under the safety belt.

"Okay, Scully?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand, her eyes changing from nearly panicked
to almost calm.

When he started the car, she put her hand to his on the steering wheel,
clutching it tightly.

"I. . .I can't stop feeling so very bad, Mulder. . .but I know that you're
trying to help me. Thank you."

He closed his eyes as her words brushed his soul, soothed his spirit.

"You're going to be all right, Scully. We just have to get through one day
at a time."

She nodded and turned her eyes to the windshield, watching the birds swing
wildly in the sky, wishing she could be up there, far from all the
deepening empitness splitting within her.

He pulled out of the hospital parking lot in a smooth turn, then pulled
onto the interstate, his hand in hers tightly, holding on as if for all
the world.
~~~~
~~~~

"That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void. . .
So runs my dream; but what am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light,
And with no language but a cry."
--From "In Memoriam A.H.H." #54, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

~~~~

The car hit a pothole and thudded painfully, but she remained tightly
clutched to his hand, as if the mere touch of him could save her.

She knew that nothing could save her.

Her dreams ran like a kaleidescope before her eyes, colors fading all to
red, blood and death sometimes like black and night.

She closed her eyes and there she was, caught in a tale she didn't want to
tell, struggling to bear a child she longed to hold, as her husband came
through and snatched it from her dying, dying limbs.

There was crying, like a baby boy screaming for his mother, as her dream
dissolved into the blue sky and green lawns and brown homes of the
landscape. She looked up and found the sun, too bright, too right,
climbing the sky like a ladder to the heavens.

"Mulder, I'm afraid."

He looked up, took the exit coming fast along the interstate, found a
place to park in an out of service gas station, the red peeling paint of
the roof like her lips.

"Mulder. . ."

"Scully, what are you afraid of?"

She was looking out the window at the empty gas station, at the ghost
pumps left rusting in the heat, at the dirt blasted against the windows.

"That," she said and nodded to the place that sat before them.

He glanced out, noting the sorrow in her eyes and the stiff arch to her
back, seeing also the empitness reflected from the gas station and into
her heart.

"Being. . .?"

She shuddered. "Nothing. Being absolutely nothing in the whole scheme of
things."

He was silent, considering what to say, how to say it.

"I want to be more than fuel for someone else, Mulder. I don't want this
to be the end of me, not this sadness, not this life that's doomed to
repeat mistakes."

"You think having the baby was a mistake?"

She shook her head after a moment's hesitation, but her conviction was
firm.

"No. I think pretending I'm okay is always a mistake."

He watched her shoulders slump and her cheek lean against the headrest.

"I think so, too, Scully. But you're not doomed."

"I am. I did it even after I made myself not. I did it. I knew how bad
this was going to be, Mulder. And I understood that I was taking a risk. .
.but when I was falling to the floor, feeling as if I'd *die*. . . ."

She trailed off, her face watching his, looking down into his eyes.

"When I thought I would die, I - I. . .panicked. I prayed for God to save
me. . .I didn't even think. . .the baby. . .Mulder, I didn't even think. .
."

He sat there, head cocked, wanting to reach out and touch her, but she was
so closed off, so guarded, that he knew he had to wait for her.

"I don't want to do this again, Mulder. No matter what possibilities there
are in this, I don't want to take the chance."

"The chance that you might die?"

She shook her head slightly. "Not so much that I might die. . .but that
the baby might die, and I with it."

He gave her a smile of relief. "That's not so bad, Scully. I wouldn't want
you to die."

She shook her head again, growing frustrated. "You don't understand.
That's. . .that's wrong. To put my own self above my *baby*. . .like
putting myself above you, above Grace."

He closed his eyes then tried to sort out all her words.

"Scully," he said softly, then looked at her. "It's not bad to know that
the baby has no chance of survival and pray that *you* will make it.
That's not wrong. It's beautiful."

He reached out, thinking she needed his hand to ground her, but she
shrugged it off.

"Mulder, I don't want to die because I was selfish enough to want a baby
that could be miserable the rest of his life. I don't want to die because
I was selfish enough to only think of myself, not what this does to you or
Grace. . ."

He nodded and looked back out at the gas station, the closed down shop
with boards over some of the windows.

"You've no need to be afraid, Scully."

She looked out too, following his eyes to the dirt and dustiness.

"No need. I'm right here. I'll never let that happen."

A police car screamed by, jolting them from their thoughts, causing him to
knock his head into the window as he turned.

She smiled and reached out to smooth his hair, placing a kiss to her
fingers and then to his scalp.

"Thank you Mulder. I know."

Her eyes closed and she suddenly sighed. "I want to name the little boy."

"All right."

"Ben-oni. That's his name. Ben-oni."

She turned to see his lips pursed, his teeth worrying his mouth as he
thought.

"Son of. . .my sad?"

Her mouth dropped, and she pulled his lip from his teeth with a smile.

"Son of My Sorrow. How do you know Greek?"

He grinned. "Sam and I had Greek school every Saturday. I hated it, wanted
to watch cartoons, not practice a language no one spoke. Why this name?"

She shrugged. "It fits."

"That's. . .well, okay. Ben-oni. Ben."

"Our baby Ben," she whispered, and turned quickly enough to see the tear
slip from his eyes.

She reached over and smoothed away the dark circles, the tear tracks, the
stubble from a few days' worth of growth.

"When we get home, Mulder, we'll talk. I promise. We will."
~~~~

Promises were always hard to keep for them, hard things to see through
when not in the thick of all that emotion, all that hurt and pain and
words that needed to be said. 

When they got home, she was able to put it all into a more secure place,
able to slide back into her persona, being Scully and impenetrable.

Mulder was trying to get Grace to take her bath, while shooting worried
looks to Scully and mouthing things to her like <we have to talk.>

She moved from the domesticity of the scene and into their bedroom,
slipping away from the tantilizing images of normalcy and motherhood.
Grace didn't want her anyway, or at least, she didn't want to think she
needed her mother, and so she hurt Scully by that.

Everything hurt now, breathing hurt and sleeping, and the sounds coming
from the bathroom as Mulder got Grace into the bath, a job that, by all
rights, should have been hers. If Grace wanted her to, if Grace wanted
that kind. . .

She sighed and drifted to the bed, trying to forget the depressive nature
of her thoughts.

She had to struggle hard to keep from falling into that deep ache in her,
something she remembered from before. Remembered the constant tug-of-war
her emotions had, the way one look from Mulder could either make her cry
or make her laugh. 

She hated not having control, and with the deaths, with her two dead
babies now, things never seemed to be in her control, all the events in
her life conspired against her.

She let out a bitter laugh and crawled deeper into the covers, masking her
hurts with the soft touch of the comforter, and delighting once again in
the feel of cotton and silk, cool sheets and pillows.

It was a far cry from the hospital room, with its sterile white walls and
ugly bright lights. 

Their bedroom held memorials to fights and loves, to deaths and renewed
committments, and to them together, laughing, crying, talking, and simply
breathing. There was nothing in it that did not call to mind some happier
time, some far away place she had never thought would be left behind.

The bed gave her a smile as she saw his face hovering over her after they
had bought the house, that first morning that they had woken up in this
room, the bright sunshine boldly coming through their window. Mulder had
groaned in the sunshine, and she had watched him get up, move dumbly to
the window, and yank close the curtains. It had been an unsure time for
them, getting to understand their routines, coming to know each other's
bodies. 

She smiled as she thought of it, thought of the countless fights, the way
they never talked on the same level, never could come to agree on a
certain thing.

One night, in the bed she now snuggled deep into, he had really looked at
her, looked right into her with such intensity, such utmost desire and
love that she could feel her soul trembling.

He had never seemed so close to her, never seemed so connected with her
before that moment, and it had taken them a year of disagreement, a year
of finding compromises and discovering quirks. She had relished that
moment from then on, kept it treasured in her heart, took it out at times
to restore her faith in him.

They had completely understood each other at that moment, completely and
utterly felt her soul blended with his. . .transcendant.

She closed her eyes, feeling that intensity creeping into her again,
releasing the tension in her shoulders and limbs.

"Hey," she heard.

Turning, she found Mulder in the doorway, his soft smile arching his
eyebrows and his lips quirked in that same way she had remembered from
that moment.

"Hey," she said back, moving to lay on her back so she could see him.

"Tired?"

She nodded her head, then held out her hand to him. "Not too much. Just. .
.sleep is kind of an escape."

He nodded and sat down on the bed, running a hand along her body over the
comforter, smiling at her with a shy grin that said he didn't really know
what to say.

"Well. . .do you want to have that talk?"

She bit her lip, then shook her head. "Not really. I. . .now that I'm not
thinking about it, I don't want to start thinking of it again."

"I understand. I really do, Scully. But I think it's important that we do.
Some of our problems before kind of stemmed from-"

She pushed up away from him with a kind of undirected anger, more mad at
herself for not feeling ready to talk than at him for bringing it up.

"Sorry," he murmured and stood up, looking away from her.

She started to reach for him, but then dropped her hand back to the bed,
closing her eyes.

How had this come between them so fast, so much already? Hadn't she made a
promise to herself, and to him, that she would be ready, she would be
prepared?

"Scully?"

His breath came quick across her closed eyelids and she shuddered, more
aroused than afraid, and slumped into his arms, away from her hurt.

"Mulder. . .I'm so-"

"Shh. . .I made a promise to you. I have to live up to it."

She pressed her palm to her lips, forcing back a sob, opening her eyes to
meet his.

"You. . .I don't deserve you," she whispered.

He buried his face into her neck, shaking his head a little as he held her
closely.

"I don't deserve you either, Scully. We're even. . ."

She smiled into him and pulled back, wiping at the tears that had begun to
trickle down. His body was pressed into hers with all the repressed and
crushed grief in him, from the very beginning of all they had gone through
to the very end.

"So, let's forget about this for awhile, Scully."

She combed her fingers through her dirty hair, ruefully realizing that she
hadn't had a shower in a week, merely sponge baths and sink hair-washings.

"Forget. . .I'd give anything to forget."

He gave her a slight smile and pulled her up from the bed, running his
hands along her arms.

"I'll show you how to forget."

With a soft touch, he kissed her lips, then trailed his fingers along her
arms, light and gentle, concentrating all his efforts on seducing her, and
seducing her to the exclusion of everything else.

"Where's Gracie?" she whispered, her eyes heavy and lips parting.

"Asleep."

He smiled as she reached up to touch him, but pulled her hands away,
bringing them back to her lap.

"I'm going to make you forget, Scully. This is only for you. . ."
~~~~

[WARNING::::THIS PART RATED R......hey, they're married......You don't have
to read this part to understand the rest at all, if you'd prefer not to
read about the sex...]

~~~~
"these precious things
let them bleed 
let them wash away
these precious things
let them break their hold over me"
--"Precious Things", Tori Amos

~~~~

His fingers were running lines of fire along her skin, like ghost touches,
but so hot, so hot and slick, that she moaned and moved under the sheets.

He held her still for a moment, pressed his lips into her navel, then
trailed his tongue along her stomach, glancing along her breasts and
savoring the taste of her neck.

She writhed, feeling empty and yet burning. Like the bush God inhabited in
the sight of Moses. . .burning and not consumed.

Burning, burning, burning, but not a lick of fire eating through her, not
a tongue of desire lapping her core.

Holy ground. . .he was worshipping her as if she were holy ground.

"I'm going to make you feel alive," he whispered, needing that himself,
begging with his rough voice to find his own release.

She breathed deep, reached out for his hair, to let her fingers glide
through it, to bring control of her body back to herself.

He darted away and licked his lips, tasting her sweat along his mouth,
grit in his teeth.

"Wait," he breathed and disappeared into the bathroom, his legs strong and
lean, muscles taking up her mind's thoughts, lust finding hold in her.

He appeared again, pulling her from the bed, pulling her from her seeming
trance, and she realized she'd been sitting there, losing her mind to hurt
as he had run water in the bathtub.

"Bath?" she murmured, shame creeping along the edges of her vision at her
incoherent state.

He nodded and shut the bathroom door behind them, standing before her in
the semi-darkness, watching her form as she moved like a ghost ship
through the waters of their sorrow.

Then his light fingers made a trail of fire along her cheek, dipping into
the hollow of her neck, flciking her chin with a smile, trying to get her
to communicate with him in a glance.

She sighed softly and her eyes focused on the water, bubbling and frothing
as spray cascaded from the faucet like a waterfall of joy that was in such
direct contrast to her own personal hell that she wanted to laugh.

If she could even remember how to laugh.

He put his hands to her waist, as if to steady her with a touch, but his
fingers tickled along her skin and played with the few curly hairs just
below her belly button.

In one fluid moment, he had stripped her of the navy track pants with
their ice blue racing stripes, his hands tugging at the hem of her light
blue shirt.

"You look beautiful when you're sad," he said softly, but his eyes were
sorrowed, grief stricken as he realized that his words were true. All lust
was dissolved in the aftermath of their baby's death, all he held was this
need to make her come back to him.

If he lost her too, there would be nothing.

She was still watching the water, but she stepped from the puddle of her
pants, holding to his arm with a thoughtless grip.

He ran his thumbs along her stomach, eyes staring intently at her, trying
to get her to look at him again, to see that he shared this grief with
her, to show her that he was going to make her forget.

He would make her forget, if only for an instant.

"Scully," he whispered and she turned, to see such love and adoration that
she could not breathe.

His hands ran up her sides, feeling every inch of her skin, thumbs
brushing over her nipples as his palms cupped her breasts. She shuddered
and closed her eyes, giving him the chance to pull her shirt gently from
her body.

Bare and breathing quick, she stood before him in merely underwear, no bra
or socks, her eyes turned to the water again, as if its continuous tumble
could pull her into another world.

"I'm going to make you alive, again," he said and ran his tongue along her
ear, slipping to that place just above her jawbone that made her melt.

She fell into him then, like every bone in her had crumbled at his touch,
her hands coming up to grip him.

He caught her, holding her tightly to him, then dipped a thumb into the
elastic of her underwear, pushing them from her waist and down her thighs,
supporting her as she let them fall off.

"If. . .if you can just make me *feel*. . .oh God, Mulder. . .just make me
feel," she whispered, and for a moment, his resolve slipped and he crushed
her mouth to his.

She groaned and he pushed her back to the tub, easing her down as she
caught her breath.

"Scully, oh babe. . .I will. I'll make you all over again. All over
again."

He hardly knew what he was saying, only that her eyes were casting about
for a life perserver and all he could throw was his love, hoping it could
keep them both afloat.

Within seconds he had pulled off his own clothes and was easing down
behind her.

The water was hot, steaming, relieving some of the pressure building in
him as he slipped down beneath the bubbles, holding her against him.

"I feel so wrong," she whispered, eyes closed.

A kiss along her neck made her sigh with the loveliness of the touch, and
he lifted a hand to stroke her skin, every inch covered by his sudsy
fingers, every cell caressed with love.

She felt the craziness swirl in her like water down a drain, like a
hurricane in the ocean, twising faster and faster without heed. She knew
it to be the craziness he made come over her, knew it to be the response
of her soul to his love.

"Mulder. . .Why do I feel so wrong?" she whispered.

He shook his head and nuzzled into her, no words needed.

The lamp was out, simply faint sunlight coming through the pebbled window
over the toilet, rays of red and gold shooting through its stained glass
mosaic. She focused on its soft beauty, thinking of Mulder's hands as he
began to set fire to her core.

Reaching out a hand to the soft sponge, his arm came up from the water,
soapy and slippery, almost making her laugh.

In a moment, the laconic mood was gone.

He began rubbing her down, scrubbing her face as he made faces at her,
washing behind her ears with a grin, getting soap into her hair and eyes,
laughing as she fumbled about in the tub for space. It was a claw foot
tub, and not easily holding two adults, but she liked how their bodies
slipped and slid over each other as they groped, finding the soap after he
dropped it, finding things to touch with a smile.

She felt life flowing into her, felt her love burning again, that soft
sigh of her spirit breathing back into her empty lungs.

He managed to finish cleaning her, then made her lean back into his lap,
propped up by his legs above the water line. She rested her head along his
stomach and closed her eyes.

"I'm going to fall asleep like this," she said, whispering.

He grabbed her shampoo and lathered it in her hair, delighting in the silk
feel of it along his legs as he spread it out, manipulating the strands
along his skin.

"Mmm," she murmured, half drunk by his touch, half asleep with genuine
exhaustion.

Taking a cupped hand filled with water, he gently rinsed her hair,
watching the water make rivers down each lock, pooling back into the tub
with a gentle rushing of whispers.

"Scully,"

"Hmm?"

"Conditioner?" he whispered.

Her eyes opened to see the bottle in his hands, white and stark agains the
dreaminess of his skin and eyes and touch. She blinked and nodded,
settling back into him with a slight smile.

He rubbed in the conditioner too, her hair now almost like a coating of
that green substance she'd been in during Antarctica, making him shiver
with the overwhelming things that brought back.

He forced those thoughts down roughly, rinsing her hair, determined to
make her better, make her alive.
Make her Feel.

"Thank you Mulder. . .nice."

He smiled and pushed her back down as she attempted to get up.

"Just stay right here," he whispered, letting her head fall back into his
stomach and her hair spread along his chest in wet clumps.

Within seconds she was asleep and he smiled, toeing the plug from the
drain and pushing it to the side so the water could slip down. 

She remained oblivious as it swirled between her breasts, along her arms,
through her hair and across her thighs.

When it got to her ankles, he noticed she was shivering, goose bumps
fleshed, her eyes moving beneath her lids.

He carefully raised up, cradling her body, then stepped out, gathering the
towel to her and wrapping her in it. She woke slowly, a smile gracing her
lips.

Laying on the bed, she opened her eyes, reaching her hand up to glance
along his cheek.

"I. . ."

He shook his head as she tried to explain what he had done for her, and
merely slipped in beside her, content to sleep.

She turned instead and kissed him gently, softly, letting her teeth nibble
on his bottom lip. He groaned and pushed back with his mouth, working into
her.

She sidled up to him, pulling so that he was on top of her, stretched
along her body like a patchwork quilt of their love, each pattern and
fabric containing every single one of their moments.

"Make me feel, Mulder," she whispered and bit his Adam's apple softly,
like when puppies bite for play. 

He growled low, pit bull, and dived into her mouth again, running his
hands along her, rubbing and kneading, plunging into her with a sudden
ferocity that she felt deep within her, felt climb her throat and scream
through her brain.

There was an explosion of force along her spine and she tightened around
him, eyes closed, finding that she was heightened by the grief, the
extreme emotions that had once been buried in her.

She was crying, he saw and stopped for a moment, but she shook her head
and ground her hips into his, letting him kiss away her tears with
tenderness.

She came hot and fast, twice, in swift jerks that caused her insides to
split wide like a melon, ripe and juicy, her breath fast then gone from
her.

As she contracted around him, he shook his head, pulling up, away, breath
rough, voice hoarse.

"I don't wanna get you pregnant," he whispered, seeing the look on her
face.

She held him down, shaking her head tight, fast, gasping to find her
voice.

"I want you to. . .get me pregnant, again, Mulder. Again. And again,
please."

He groaned and felt himself sliding down into her, but it went on forever
and ever, sliding down and down deep like Alice down the rabbit's hole.

Within moments they came seconds apart, sweating grief out between the
sheets, gasping out forceful breaths of pain and love.

Slumping into one another, they laid there, exhausted, falling back into
promises of dreams and sleep.

She kissed the side of his mouth with a gentle touch and breathed words in
his ear that seared his soul.

"I came three times, Mulder. . .didn't think I ever would after. . .You
made me feel alive."

She pushed her nose into his neck, and he knew what her words meant,
despite their fuzziness. 

After she found out about his affair with Diana, even after everything was
all right again, she had never reached that ecstasy, no matter what he
tried, how he tried, their desperateness to reclaim that again.

"Did I make you feel?" he whispered, fighting off sleep just for a moment.

"Oh. . .yes."

He smiled and let his eyes closed.

"Night. . .Scully."

She eased closer to him, body tight and slick along his. "Good night."
~~~~

end 
adios
RM
hope this didn't disappoint you