TITLE:  Intersection





AUTHOR:  Eleanore





EMAIL ADDRESS:  bonyun@oanet.com





DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  


   You are welcome to re-post or otherwise distribute this story


among other X-Philes, as long as you do so for free, and my


name and e-mail address go with it as author.





SPOILER WARNING:  


        A post episode story. 


        Comes immediately after Orison, in season 7





RATING: PG





CONTENT WARNING:  Scully-Mulder Romance 





CLASSIFICATION:  S (story), R (S/M romance),  A (angst)





SUMMARY:


   Mulder takes Scully home with him after her battle 


with Donnie Pfaster.  First posting: May 2000.








                          INTERSECTION





                          by  Eleanore


                        bonyun@oanet.com








     Mulder opened the door to number forty-two and ushered


Scully inside. The light from the street was enough to navigate


by as he went into the bedroom and placed her overnight case on a


chair. He turned on one of the modernistic lamps that had arrived


with the bedroom furniture. It gave a soft, dim light.


     "You can have the bed. I'll be fine on the... " He was


talking to himself. "Scully?" He retraced his steps to find her


still standing in the shadows just inside the door.


     She hadn't spoken a word since they had left her place.


Instead of feeling better as they left behind the blood and the


wreckage that were the result of her terrifying battle with


Donnie Pfaster, she had sunk into depression. The last traces of


what must have been a terrific adrenalin rush had faded from her


bloodstream, leaving her pale and sluggish.


     "C'mon." He put an arm about her and urged her gently


forward. He should have seen this coming when she had allowed him


to take her out to his car clad only in her pyjamas. Her feelings


of guilt, on top of all the fear and the physical strain, had


been too much. All systems had crashed.


     He took hold of the blanket to slip it from her shoulders,


but she pulled it more tightly about herself. Instead he pointed


her towards the bathroom. "You go get ready for bed," he


suggested, as if guiding a sick child. Obedient, she went into


the bathroom and closed the door.


     As he busied himself putting clean pillow cases on the


pillows, Mulder heard the toilet flush and the water running.


Then silence.


     "Scully? You okay?" He tapped on the door before cautiously


opening it. Still wrapped from chin to knee in the blanket, she


stood staring at the empty bathtub. Mulder thought about the


bubble bath that would have been her last, and shivered. When she


turned toward him her eyes were huge and dark and he could too


easily imagine what horrors they were seeing. She moved past him


like a sleepwalker.


     "Bed's ready," he said, flicking off the bathroom light. "I


hope you don't mind using these sheets. I just washed them on the


weekend, and...actually they are the only ones I have that fit


the waterbed."


     She let the blanket drop to the floor and with slow,


uncoordinated movements, climbed on to the big bed where she


collapsed with her face pressed into the pillows.


     "Can I get you something warm to drink? Tea? Maybe hot milk


with a little whisky in it?" Could she breath all right with her face


in the pillows like that?


     "I just want to sleep," she muttered, turning on to her side


and tugging the covers over herself. Mulder turned out the lamp


and sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were closed. She drew in


a deep shuddering breath, let it out on a long painful sounding


sigh, then fell quiet.


     Did she want him close by, or did she want him to go away?


What he wanted to do was stroke and comfort her, but she didn't


accept those things easily.


     Deciding Scully probably would prefer privacy, Mulder was


about to stand when her hand came out from under the covers and


grasped his fingers. She didn't speak or open her eyes; however


her grip was strong. Happy to know she had sought his touch, even


if unconscious of doing so, he sat quietly in the dark until her


fingers relaxed, then went out to sleep on the couch.





     "No! Get off me, you miserable bastard. Let me goooo!"


     Scully's desperate cries of rage and terror had Mulder in


the bedroom in an instant. She was thrashing amid the tangled bed


clothes, swearing like a dock worker.


     Mulder grabbed her shoulders. "It's okay, it's okay. It's


just a dre--"


     He grunted as she kicked him in the gut; ducked just in time


to avoid a wicked jab towards his eyes. Touching her only fed her


panic. He backed off the bed before she could do him any serious


damage.


     "Scully, wake up. Scully!" She sprang bolt upright with a


strangled sob. Wild eyed and panting, she checked all around her.


     "It's okay. You're safe. It was only a dream."


     Her gaze fastened on him, but it was a few seconds before


recognition showed in her eyes. "Mulder."


     "That's me. You were having a nightmare."


     Her eyes went back to searching the dark corners.


     "This is my apartment. My bedroom."


     Reality won out over the dream world. Her face lost its


feral hunted look, and her shoulders relaxed as she dropped her


head into her hands with a sigh of relief. "I don't remember


coming here."


     "That's what all the girls say."


     She did not return his smile.


     "I brought you here in my car because your place was a


wreck. You were pretty out of it by the time we arrived. Nervous


exhaustion." Now she was fully awake it seemed safe to sit on the


bed beside her. "Perhaps you would have preferred to go to your


mother's?"


     "No, no. This is fine." It was one of the few things they


were in absolute agreement on. Mrs. Scully was not to be upset


unnecessarily. She had suffered enough on account of the X-Files.


     Scully dragged her hands away from her face and her eyes


widened when she saw fresh blood smeared on her palm. It was


enough to shatter her fragile calm. Mulder could see her nostrils


flare as she struggled to breath.


     "Your lip is bleeding again, that's all," he reassured her.


He fetched some toilet tissue from the bathroom and she took it


from him to dab at her mouth, then scrubbed her palm. He knew 


that with each determined stroke, she was beating back the 


irrational fear that threatened to engulf her. Removing the


wadded paper from her hand, he fired it into the bathroom where


it fell short of the wastebasket.


     "Guess my depth perception isn't so good in the dark."


     "Move." She nudged him off the bed so she could sort out the


snarled covers. There was a desperate urgency to her movements 


as if by restoring everything to a normal appearance, she could


convince herself everything was normal.


     "Can I get you anything?" She would say no.


     "No, I'm fine." She punched up a pillow and lay back,


pulling the covers up high.


     "You going to be okay? Would you like me to stay in here


with you?" She would say no, she was okay.


     "I'll be fine, Mulder. Go back to sleep."


     He stood in the doorway for a moment longer. She wasn't fine,


of course. Her fingers had a death grip on a fold of blanket and


she wouldn't look him in the eyes.


     He knew she would fight off his help with ferocious


independence as long as she could. But he also knew that when


finally forced to admit she needed someone, she would come to


him. It was like some strange courtship dance they performed over


and over. Advance. Rebuff. Withdrawal. Counter advance.


     "Good night."


     "Mulder? I'm sorry I was so sharp. Thank you."


     "I'm on the couch if you want company."








     He couldn't get back to sleep; he kept thinking he heard


cries of distress from the bedroom. But the two times he did get


up to check, Scully seemed to be asleep, and all was calm.


     It was at times like these that Mulder thought he should


take up smoking. He was too distracted to read, didn't want to


turn on the TV for fear of disturbing Scully, and was out of


sunflower seeds. If he smoked, he would have something to do


while he waited out the night. He lay on the couch with his hands


clasped behind his head and watched the kinetic art created upon


his walls by the lights of the passing traffic.


     A ghostly grey figure appeared at the edge of his vision.


Drifting across the room without a sound, it came to a stop 


beside the couch.


     "Scully?"


     Her eyes examined the shadows while the fingers of one 


hand worried a button on her pyjama top.


     "What is it?"


     "I can't close my eyes. I...see things."


     "Understandable." He brought his arms down and was about


to sit up to make room for her on the couch, when she stopped 


him by pressing a hand against his shoulder. Pulling back the 


blanket, she lowered herself down on top of him to lie with her 


cheek against his chest. After a moment of mild surprise, Mulder 


dragged the blanket back up over them both.


     "Welcome aboard."


     She made no reply, but slid her arms about his ribs in a


mute request. He didn't require an engraved invitation. He


wrapped his arms about her and held her tightly, waiting for the


tears. But there were no tears.


     "Want to talk about it?"


     There were no words. Instead, she began to shiver. He


rearranged the blanket, but it didn't help. It was not her flesh


that was chilled, it was her spirit. The shuddering grew worse


and he could even hear her teeth chattering. This was not good.


     "Scully? I think you're in shock." He pushed her up and away


from him. "I don't mean to be unwelcoming, but I really think


it's time for that hot drink."


     She leaned back against the couch and hugged her knees to


her chest. Mulder tucked the blanket snugly round her. "Hang on."


     This was no time for gourmet cooking. He ran the tap until


the water was steaming hot and filled a large mug. After stirring


in several spoonfuls of sweetened iced-tea mix, he hurried back


through the dark to where Scully sat quaking in her cocoon.


     Sitting facing her, he placed the mug in her shaking hands,


moulded her cold fingers round it, then helped her keep it steady


as she lifted it to drink. The china clattered against her teeth.


     "This tastes like hell," she complained weakly. "What is


it?"


     "Toddy a la Mulder. Drink up." She took another mouthful


which started her coughing. By the time she had regained her


composure, the shuddering had diminished somewhat.


     "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to


poison me," she wheezed, but she took another swallow.


     "It's working isn't it?"


     Mulder sat back and put his arm around her and she leaned


into him like a cat that wanted petting. When he allowed his hand


to stroke her arm, she made a small noise he interpreted as


thanks. The events of the previous evening had broken down some


of her emotional barriers. But she would mend; this neediness was


only temporary and he must not presume.


     He guided the mug back up for her to drink some more of the


cooling brew. "Feeling any better?"


     "Not much." She still shivered intermittently. The single


blanket didn't provide a lot of warmth.


     "Why don't you go back to bed. You'll be much warmer


there...and more comfortable, too."


     She was silent.


     "I'll stay with you."


     "I don't want to go to sleep. I don't want to dream."


     "Not a problem. I wasn't sleeping anyway."


     They moved into the other room. He put the mug on the


bedside table and turned on the gooseneck reading lamp that sat


there. Scully settled in the middle of the bed, where the beam


from the lamp illuminated her. In her loose grey garment, she


made Mulder think of an escaping convict caught in a search


light. He was turning to lower the lamp's beam when he noticed a


shadowy mark on her spine, just above the collar of her pyjamas.


Icy fingers strummed his guts in a minor key.


     Ever since she had been abducted the second time, he had


been watching her carefully for any strange physical phenomenon.


Stepping closer, he looked down into the gap between the fabric


and her skin and his breath caught painfully in his throat.


     It was no alien parasitic life form, but it still made him


feel sick. Deep purple bruises circled her slender white neck


like an obscenity. That monster, Donnie Pfaster, had tried to


strangle her.


     "What is it?" Shading her eyes, she twisted about to look at


him and the neck of her shirt gaped open, allowing him to see the


ugly blue thumb marks at the base of her throat.


     "Aw, Scully." He wanted to cry.


     She realised what the light had revealed and turned her back


on him. "I'm okay." Her mantra. As she pulled the pyjama top more


closely about her neck, Mulder noticed more evidence of her


ordeal; red puffy welts about her wrists.


     "Aw, Scully." He couldn't help himself. His hand went to her


and stroked the back of her neck, gently running over the marks


as if he could erase them with his touch. How he wished he could


erase them.


     "Mulder, don't. I'm okay."


     He went round to sit in front of her and reached for one of


her hands, but she jerked it out of his grasp. Hunching her


shoulders, she drew her fingers up inside the long loose sleeves.


     "Let it go. It's nothing I haven't experienced before."


     But he reached for her hand again and held it firmly as he


pushed the sleeve back. More blue-black splotches marbled her


arms.


     "Please don't."


     He could no more obey her wishes than fly; he had to obey


his heart. Turning her hand over, he bent and pressed his lips to


one of the marks on the inside of her wrist. Then another...and


another. Her skin was damp and salty; one of them was crying. He


looked up to see tears welling in her eyes, but she still refused


to let them flow.


     "I'm not a child," she pleaded. "It's not that simple. You


can't kiss all my boo-boos and make them better."


     "I can try."


     He folded back the lapel of her top and leaned in to kiss


away the bruises there. If he poured enough of his love on each


one surely they would fade more quickly. He heard her soft sob of


surrender as she lifted her chin so he might kiss her throat. Her


hands were the ones that undid the buttons--that pushed the


fabric away so he could kiss her shoulders.


     As new bruises came to light, Mulder felt each one like a


physical blow. There seemed to be no part of her unmarked by 


the fiend's foul touch. With the brush of his lips, he wanted to


cleanse away the evil, to return her to herself, whole and


unscathed.


     When he slipped the flannel shirt off, she folded forward


into his embrace so he might heal her back--and wept.








     Mulder woke in one of those mellow moods that made one want


to lie still and appreciate being alive. He had slept well.


     A small movement made him look down. Scully lay on top of


him, her pointy little chin digging into his chest, her clear


blue eyes staring at him as if she had willed him to awaken.


     "What did you do with my top, Mulder?"


     He laughed and rolled her off to one side. "It's rather late


to turn modest on me, don't you think?"


     She blushed, but did not move to cover herself. The intimate


bouquet of her body drifted up to seduce him with a warm caress.


He drew in a deep breath of this natural perfume--one he


preferred to any designer scent. At times, it acted like a


healing potion, soothing his mind, relaxing his body, and lifting


his spirits. At times, the same innocent fragrance made his blood


simmer with passion.


     Propping himself up on one elbow, he let his gaze linger in


appreciation on the curves of her firm, high breasts. He had


pressed his face against those silken cushions last night, but


last night had not been about sex. His attentions had stopped


when he reached the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, which she


still wore.


     This morning however...this morning the sight of those ripe


berries, centered in dusky plum circles atop creamy white slopes,


stirred a powerful craving for sweets.


     She glanced at his clock. "It's after ten. We should be


getting to the office."


     "I think you should take the day off."


     "You know I'd rather work than brood."


     "Yeah. I was just thinking...since we're here in bed


together anyway...maybe we could continue from where we left off


last night."


     "We could." She looked him straight in the eyes, but he knew


by the way her tongue flicked out to touch the corner of her


mouth that she was ambivalent about the idea.


     "But?"


     "Two things. Last night...what you did... " Her voice faded


to a rough whisper. "I don't think I can find words for it,


Mulder, or for my feelings. What you gave me was far beyond


words, and I'll never forget it."


     He put out a finger to smooth a drop of moisture from the


side of her nose. If she would let him, he would give her much


more.


     "It was so special, I'd like to keep the memory of it


separate from sex." She paused to take a breath, then went on in


a more normal voice. "Secondly...I don't want to look back on


this day and feel we made love for the first time as some


accidental byproduct of my temporary emotional breakdown."


     Uh, huh. She had obviously been awake for some time and had


this all thought out. Her arguments were calm and convincingly


lucid. Mulder felt his arousal drain away. He wanted her...but he


wanted her one hundred percent willing and eager.


     "You're angry."


     "No. I agree with you." But, God, he was disappointed. He


leaned over and kissed her beautiful soft mouth--not taking no


for an answer--persisting until she let him in. And he made it a


long, forceful kiss to remember.


     When he pulled away, it gave him satisfaction to note how


her lips clung to his for a brief moment, as if reluctant to let


him go.


     Her eyes had filled with hurt and confusion. "That wasn't


fair."


     "I just wanted to be sure you knew what you were missing,"


he said with feigned indifference, but the conflicted look on her


face made him feel like scum. This time he used his thumb to


stroke away the crease between her brows. "I'm sorry. I guess 


I was a little angry after all."


     "I'm sorry, too. You must think I'm some kind of neurotic


spinster with a sexual phobia."


     He chuckled. No spinster of his acquaintance would look this


good in--or even half out of--grey flannel PJ's. "No. I think you


are a unique and wonderfully complex woman." He pulled the sheet


up over her. "A woman well worth waiting for."


     Her mouth relaxed into a smile so wide, so sweet and


tender...she positively glowed. "You really know how to undermine


a girl's resistance," she said in a husky murmur that made him


ache. She slid her hand up beneath his baggy t-shirt to explore


his chest with slow deliberate strokes. Her touch was possessive;


her eyes were alight with possibilities.


     Advance. Rebuff. Withdrawal. Counter advance.


     He kissed her again, this time keeping it chaste and feather


light. She was the one who urged him deeper, putting her arms


around his neck and keeping him there until she was satisfied.


After a long moment spent quivering, nose to nose, she was the


one who pulled him down on top of her.


     Burrowing his face into the curve of her neck, Mulder


offered a silent prayer of thanks. You couldn't push this woman


into anything; she had to make up her own mind, when she was


ready, and not before. He was immensely grateful that she wanted


the same thing he did.


     They had come, each by their own uncertain and winding path,


to a crossroads in their personal lives. The unknown road


stretching ahead of them undoubtedly held its share of potholes,


but he looked forward to the adventure. From this point on they


journeyed together.








end





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