Disclaimers etc in chapter one. PREPONDERANCE II By Alanna Rabun emmalanna@aol.com, alanna@alanna.net Chapter Six. +++++ "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, picture this: one Saturday afternoon, you put your young son or daughter into the car with you and head to the local grocery store. You park your car, take the child's hand, and walk into the store. You begin your shopping. You carefully choose vegetables, breakfast cereal, maybe some cold cuts. Then, just as you and your child are standing in the checkout aisle, something horrific happens." Montgomery County District Attorney Charles Westfield paused for effect as the courtroom became silent, waiting for him to spin his tale. "A woman walks into the store. Her face is composed. She approaches another woman near you, pulls out a handgun, and fires one bullet into the woman's heart." In his seat behind Scully, Mulder winced. Westfield continued, his voice measured and deadly. "Everyone around you begins screaming, but the woman continues shooting. Her victim is now lying on the floor, a pool of blood spreading around her. But the shooter does not stop. She stands over the woman's body and fires two more bullets into the woman's head, shattering her skull. Your son cries in horror and you hold him close, all the while terrified that you will become a victim yourself." Mulder closed his eyes, his composure quickly unraveling. "The shooter drops her gun then merely stands there, looking at the person she has killed. A mother of three young children. A loving wife. Young, with her entire life ahead of her. A life which has now been taken by a remorseless woman with a gun." The courtroom was silent as the grave. Mulder opened his eyes and glanced over at the jury, who were following Westfield's every word with rapt attention. "These are the facts, captured on videotape and witnessed by thirty people at a Safeway in Rockville, MD. During the next week, I will prove to you that Dana Scully walked into this grocery store and killed Samantha Moriarity in cold blood." Mulder looked at Scully, who sat in front of him, a waist-high barrier separating them. Shoulders squared and looking straight ahead, she painted a picture of composure. Mulder knew she needed to maintain that composure for her own sanity, but he hoped she would relent just a little, to show the jury the human beneath the statue. Westfield turned back toward the defense table and looked pointedly at Scully, raising one hand to gesture toward her. "What would motivate Dana Scully to commit such an unthinkable crime?" He paused, as if expecting an answer. "She is an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Her medical specialty is pathology. Agent Scully is well-acquainted with death, even inured to it. The sanctity of life is not as great to her as it is to the rest of society. In her work she sees corpses every day. As a criminal investigator, she is familiar with the mechanics of the criminal mind. Perhaps she has allowed it to influence her own mind." Donald Grandberry, Scully's attorney, made a move to object, but then lowered his hand. The prosecutor continued. "But what would make her walk into a grocery store and murder an innocent woman?" Once again, Westfield paused. "Agent Dana Scully hated Samantha Moriarity." A few jurors shifted their focus from Westfield to Scully, and Mulder's stomach churned. He clenched his fists so tightly he might have drawn blood with his fingernails, had he even noticed the pain. "Her partner at the FBI is Fox Mulder, who recently discovered that Samantha Moriarity was his sister, whom he had not seen since she was eight years old." Yet again, Westfield paused, seemingly thrilled by his own theatrics. "Agent Mulder has spent his entire life searching for his sister, frequently dragging Agent Scully along on his searches. His quest has become hers, taking over her life during the past six years. But whereas he searched with zeal, she increasingly became disillusioned with this search. Why did it have to become her life too? The resentment and rage simmered within her until she could not stand it anymore, and in a Safeway in Rockville four months ago, Agent Scully took care of her problem. "She killed Samantha Moriarity." Westfield nodded his head slightly and confidently returned to his seat. Scully turned around to face Mulder, with haunted but defiant eyes. Her lips pursed and she gave him a look only they could understand. He believed her. And then he rose from his seat and walked out of the courtroom, barely making it to the mens' room, before collapsing on the floor of a stall in disgust and fear. +++++ "Court is now adjourned until 9 AM tomorrow morning." The judge and jury left the courtroom. Scully turned around to face Mulder. She had been watching him as much as she was able that day, needing to see his face to keep some sanity in the midst of this hell. This hell of her own creation. The judge allowed her a 30-minute meeting with her attorney before she had to return to the jail for the night. She stood, following the cadre into a conference room near the judge's chambers. In order to join them, Mulder told a guard he was a paralegal. The party squeezed into the room, taking seats around a well-worn table. Mulder sat next to her and immediately took her hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. Whereas before she would have been surprised by the unexpected show, now she merely squeezed it tightly, desperate for human contact. Desperate for his contact. Grandberry took some papers and legal pads out of his briefcase and began. "I think our case looks promising so far." Scully looked up at him, shocked. Was this man arguing a completely different trial? He continued, as a young woman appeared at the door bearing bags of sandwiches and canned drinks. "The prosecution is trying this case at face-value, which I see as a foolish move, but they seem a little too confident in the choice. They're going to present the evidence as it stands, using eyewitness accounts and the security footage. Westfield is playing the resentment card for motivation, but I can knock that down when we get to present our case." "How?" his client asked. "He's only taking into account that one side of your motivation. Westfield is a well-respected lawyer, but he's making some serious mistakes. I've seen his witness list and he's relying more on expert witnesses than people who know you personally." Grandberry leaned back in his chair, as if resting on his laurels. "From his opening statements, he seems to think you only have one side to your personality, but the idea of it simply being a case of resentment makes you seem one-dimensional, and the jury won't buy it." Scully pinned him with a glance, needing to assert power in the midst of the restraints on her freedom. "What are you going to tell them was my motivation?" "Certainly not that you were embittered toward Moriarity." Her attorney looked at her, then set his drink on the table and leaned forward in his chair. The tension in the room became tangible. Scully suddenly felt as if her entire future hinged on this moment. "One thing can get you acquitted, Agent Scully." The tape. "No." Her voice was final. The room was deadly silent for several long minutes. She could hear lungs inhaling and exhaling, and the soft tick of the wall clock. Counting down the minutes left of their conference. Slowly taking away her freedom. Freedom -- was this what the entire trial was about? She could compromise everything she believed in and be free, or stand by her morals and essentially end her life as she knew it. Her muscles tensed, threading her nerves thinly. "Scully--" Mulder's hushed voice pled, and she silenced him by pulling her hand out of his grasp. She wanted to regret the harshness, but she needed to absorb this, not allow Mulder to lead her along with plaintive whispers. But then she took a long look at his face. He wanted her to say "yes". He wanted her to compromise. She loved Mulder more than she had ever dreamed of loving another person, but at that moment she hated the part of him that wanted this. "Scully," he began again, and she stopped the torrent of fury which threatened her speech. After everything they had endured, she owed him at least listening before she lashed out at him. "They are accusing you of murdering Samantha in cold blood. First-degree murder leaves no room for anything but deliberation and malice." He paused and watched her. She held his gaze, eyes narrowed and lips thinned. "Did you intend to kill her?" She remained silent, but her look said "no". "But you're going to let them convict you of premeditated murder because of your ideals?" His voice rose, nearly broken from strain. "You'll become a martyr to your honor even though you didn't DO what you're being accused of?" Scully pulled her hand from his grasp and stood, steadiness betrayed by her heels and mind's chaos. Grandberry remained in his chair, watching them as Mulder rose to his feet, seemingly overpowered by his emotions. "Nothing will change the fact that you did kill a woman. My sister. But spending the rest of your life in prison is more of a betrayal of who you are, Scully, than by doing whatever it takes to be free." She turned away from him and began pacing the room, each option weighed in her hands. Freedom. Honor. To save herself, she had to betray her honor. To save her honor, she had to acquiesce to a lie. A loud knock sounded at the door, startling the room but not diffusing the tension. "TIME'S UP," a loud voice called. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and made her decision. "Use the tape." +++++ After an excruciatingly long weekend, Monday morning dawned with Mulder preparing himself to take the stand in Scully's defense. As he had watched witness after witness testify, preparing for his own chance on the stand, Mulder's nerves stretched thin, nearing their breaking point. But as he sat outside the courtroom, waiting to be called in for his chance on the stand, Mulder felt an oddly surprising sense of peace. He was being given the opportunity to help Scully, to save her life. The chance was rare but so welcome. Telling himself that it was his obligation to her cheapened the event. His words held the power to save them both. Even before the courtroom doors opened to call him inside, Mulder was on his feet, primed to take the stand. The guard's announcement of his name was superfluous as Mulder walked through the doorway, leading the guard rather than the other way around. Since he was a witness, this was the first time he'd been inside since the opening statements. He entered the witness box and was sworn in, saying his own silent oath along with his promise to tell the whole truth. The first half hour of questioning passed quickly, with Mulder answering standard questions involving his professional background and relationship to Scully. Keeping his answers brief and without elaboration, he kept his gaze focused on Grandberry. He knew that if he looked at Scully, he would lose his composure. Sangfroid was what Scully needed at that point. The preliminaries finally out of the way, Grandberry began his examination. "What was your first reaction when you heard of the murder?" Mulder clenched his fists slightly, but kept his voice steady as he answered, "I was surprised but not shocked. I immediately assumed that she had been in a confrontation with a suspect without my knowledge." "And when you found out who she had killed, how did you react?" The question brought painful memories. "When I was told that Samantha Moriarity was actually my sister, I was devastated." Grandberry walked toward the stand, but remained about six feet away. "Were you devastated more by the fact of her death or by the manner of her death?" Mulder considered his answer for a few moments before speaking. "The reality that she was my sister didn't fully sink in until much later. I had not seen her since I was twelve and she was eight. Over the years, she had become more of an idea to me than a real person. Though I refused to believe it, a part of me had always suspected she had been dead since she was abducted. Hearing that she had been alive and living so close to me was startling, but given the fact that I never knew her as an adult, I think that I mourned the idea of her more than I did her as an actual person." Considering his statement, he realized he hadn't answered the question, and continued. "But, to answer, I was shocked that she had been killed, but I must stress that I was never angry with Scully for being the cause of that." Grandberry quirked an eyebrow in a manner eerily resembling Scully. Mulder wanted to look over at her, but kept his focus on the attorney, who then asked, "Do you blame her?" Mulder's answer was automatic. "No." "You don't blame her?" "I assign responsibility to her in a technical sense: Samantha was killed by Scully's gun. But I have enough faith and trust in my partner that I cannot blame her in an emotional sense." Grandberry turned away and took a few steps, then turned back around to face Mulder. He then began a line of questioning regarding Scully's flight to New Mexico and Mulder's actions in tracking her down. Mulder explained in guarded terms that he wanted to track her down and find out from her what had happened and why he had gone after her, at such risk to their safety and legal responsibilities. He was careful to stress that he had always intended to bring her back to DC rather than helping her to escape. After the line of inquiry was exhausted, Grandberry paused and began another track. "Have you ever had reason to believe that your partner resented your search for your sister?" "No," was Mulder's unequivocal response, even as he remembered a conversation in a darkened office just before her cancer diagnosis. //This isn't all about you, Mulder. This is *my* life.// He continued. "Scully stood by me every step of the way, backing me up when I took risks in my search, and often taking her own risks. She wanted to find the truth as fervently as I did." His voice deepened and became more earnest. "Scully has a wealth of honor and strength which I only wish I could begin to achieve. She has always been my partner in every sense of the word." Grandberry stepped forward, only inches away from the witness stand, and prepared for his final question. "Do you believe that Dana Scully killed Samantha Moriarity in cold blood?" "No." Mulder believed that with every ounce of his being. "No further questions, your honor." The attorney returned to his seat, and Westfield rose to cross-examine Mulder. He began with a bullet. "Are you and Dana Scully sexually involved?" Mulder blinked but won his struggle to keep his composure. "Yes." A light danced in Westfield's eyes, and Mulder wanted to slap the bastard. "And when did this intimacy begin?" "While we were traveling back to DC from New Mexico." The wicked gleam shone. "You slept with the woman who murdered your sister?" "Objection, your honor!" Grandberry called out. A smug smile on his face, Westfield said, "Question withdrawn." But the question remained in the air of the courtroom. Mulder finally looked over at Scully. Beneath her composed facade, Mulder could see her straining with fury. The attorney continued. "So, the two of you maintained a platonic partnership for six years?" "Yes." Mulder's jaw hurt from the clenching of his teeth. "Do you love Dana Katherine Scully?" Without hesitation, Mulder answered, "Yes." "Did you ever think that Agent Scully was resentful of your search for your long-lost sister?" Mulder shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I already answered this question. No." "Not even when you would run off and leave her, risking your life? Not even when she accompanied you while you pursued outlandish leads, risking her life and both your reputations?" Westfield's voice rose with the questions. "Never." Mulder's own voice was cold steel. "Not even when she was abducted to punish you, then contracted cancer and almost died because she had been drawn into your ridiculous quest?" Mulder couldn't control his anger any longer. "NO!" he shouted. Westfield looked at the judge. "No further questions." Fine tremors of fury vibrating through his body, Mulder stood and stepped down from the witness stand. As he passed Scully on his way to the gallery, she looked at him and shook her head in a nearly imperceptible motion. Never, her face said. And he believed her. +++++ That afternoon, Grandberry had a television and VCR brought into the courtroom, then presented the falsified videotape of "Scully's" hypnosis to the jury. A funereal silence descended on the packed courtroom as the audience watched, fascinated, as a woman they thought was Scully was led into hypnosis by an unseen psychiatrist and told that when she next saw Samantha Moriarity, she would kill the woman. The United States Attorney raised no objection to the videotape, which surprised Mulder, but also relieved him. After the video was shown, Grandberry informed the judge that the doctor who performed the hypnosis had died of natural causes a month afterward, and that the nurse who attended the session had provided documentation of her participation and signed a sworn affidavit that the tape was authentic, but that she didn't know of the motives. Then, after a short recess, the attorneys began their final statements. Westfield's closing speech echoed his opening one, asserting that Scully had killed Samantha Moriarity in cold blood because of resentment at all she had lost in his quest. Grandberry used his time to speak to its utmost advantage. "The death of Samantha Moriarity is an unequivocal tragedy. She was a loving wife and mother and had a long life ahead of her. The fact that Dana Scully shot and killed her is not in dispute. "However, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are being asked to determine whether Dana Scully killed Mrs. Moriarity in cold blood. The answer is no." He walked toward the jury box then paced back and forth in front of it, as if trying to appeal to each individual juror. "First degree murder is a very serious charge. It is intentional and premeditated killing. Agent Scully's actions were neither intentional nor premeditated. She was under the influence of hypnosis, which caused her to act in uncharacteristic and extreme ways. "But this was *not* first degree murder. "When you decide Agent Dana Katherine Scully's culpability in this crime, remember that though she may have killed an innocent woman, in this case, the charge does not fit the crime. "Thank you." Grandberry held the jury's gaze for a long moment, then turned his back and returned to the defense table. Judge Boyd then began to give the jury instructions for its deliberations, and Mulder shifted on the hard bench. In front of him, Scully turned around to face him briefly, her skillfully composed face speaking volumes of love and fear in languages only he could read. The loud bang of a gavel sounding signaled the recess for jury deliberations, and Mulder stood, watching forlornly as the guards led Scully away to another night in jail. Mulder picked up his briefcase and, with a heavy heart and pressure weighing on his shoulders, walked out of the courtroom to begin the excruciating wait. +++++ 9:48 A.M., Tuesday. The eighth day of The United States v. Dana Katherine Scully. The jury had adjourned to begin deliberations late the previous afternoon, and Mulder had not had a moment's peace since. He would have slept on the benches outside the courtroom, had the guards not near-forcibly removed him from the courthouse that evening. He took a hotel room down the street from the courthouse, unwilling to allow even the fairly short distance between the courthouse and his apartment. Needing to be as close as possible. Rebecca Carson, Grandberry's legal assistant, called him on his cell phone early that morning to inform him that the jury had reached a verdict and court would be called into session at 10 A.M., but Mulder was already pacing outside the chambers, nerves decimating his body, each step captured on television footage by reporters denied access to the proceedings and eager for any glimpse of the participants. Finally, a few minutes before ten, a bailiff opened the courtroom's doors and Mulder hurried inside, claiming his seat directly behind Scully. The large, modern room immediately filled with spectators and attorneys. Mulder anxiously glanced around the room and his gaze pinned Scanlon/Moriarity, who had attended every day of the trial, sparring nonverbally with Mulder once the other man realized his identity had been revealed. Mulder shot the man a look of pure hatred and disgust then turned away, not wanting to spend another minute even acknowledging the bastard. Behind him, Maggie Scully took a seat, looking uncomfortable and pained as she had all during the trial. And every day Mulder had felt her eyes boring holes in his back, blaming him for this and every other horror he had caused her family. Mulder had ignored her, unable to take on more self-loathing when so much -- Scully's life, HIS life -- was at stake. Then Scully entered the courtroom, accompanied by two armed guards. Though she was the picture of poise in her dark suit and carefully brushed hair -- red once again -- Mulder could see the strain eating away at her body, her soul. Calm and composed, she looked at him, then allowed herself to be led to her seat at the defense table. Mulder clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to tear down the barrier between them and clutch her in his arms, to run with her away from this hell. A flurry of activity at the front of the courtroom, then the bailiff announced: "All rise, court is now in session, the Honorable Christine Boyd presiding." Mulder stood, nerves shot, body barely obeying him, then sat down again when Judge Boyd took her seat at the front of the courtroom. The jury room's doors opened and the twelve women and men who had decided Scully's fate entered the courtroom, filing into their seats like a council of elders. Judge Boyd's clear voice rang through the chamber. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" The foreman stood. "We have, your honor." He handed an envelope to a bailiff, who took it up to the judge. She opened the envelope. Mulder's automatic breathing reflexes sustained him as he forgot everything but the thread of hope and terror keeping him alive at that moment. Judge Boyd nodded and handed the envelope back to the bailiff, who returned it to the foreman. "Will the defendant please rise?" Scully stood, her shoulders squared and dignified. Mulder had never been more in awe of her than he was right then. "On the count of murder in the first degree, how do you find the defendant?" The foreman stole a quick glance at Scully, then looked back at the judge. Time stood still in the courtroom. Mulder felt the force of a thousand hopes and fears on his shoulders. "Not guilty." The courtroom erupted in the din of suppressed shock. Scully's head tilted slightly backward, relief radiating from her body in waves. Mulder felt the exhilaration of a man being given back his life. But there was still one more issue. "On the count of violation of court-assigned bond, how do you find the defendant?" Mulder regained control of his body and emotions, and looked over at the foreman, who was surprisingly controlled in the midst of this incredible situation. "Guilty." Trying to regain control of the courtroom, Judge Boyd pounded her gavel twice and raised her voice. "The defendant is to be remanded to the Montgomery County Courthouse until 9 A.M. tomorrow morning, at which time sentencing hearings will begin." She stood and the bailiff announced, "Court is now in recess." The guards, the attorneys, the spectators -- the entire world evaporated for Mulder as he pushed his way through the gate separating him from Scully. And then there she was, in his arms once again. Free. +++++ Two men. A darkened room. A cut-crystal carafe of brandy and four Limoges snifters, two of which had been uprighted and filled with ruby liquid. An onyx ashtray, already filling with cigarettes, gold-stamps proclaiming "Morley." The lights were low, the room oppressively silent, as two men relaxed in leather wing chairs, resting on their laurels. One of them spoke. The pride on his face belied the apprehension his companion always created in him. "It was far easier than I had expected. They put up a good fight, but our objectives were ultimately achieved." The Cigarette Smoking Man nodded. "Excellent work, counselor." He stubbed out his cigarette and stood, then walked out of the room. Taking another sip of his brandy, Montgomery County District Attorney Charles Westfield smiled. Excellent work, indeed. +++++ END (6/7) Disclaimers etc in chapter one. PREPONDERANCE By Alanna Rabun emmalanna@aol.com, alanna@alanna.net EPILOGUE +++++ The day dawned hot, with a sky illuminated by a blazing sun. At noon, a rented beige Ford Explorer pulled into the parking lot of the Maryland State Women's Penitentiary in Jessup, Maryland. A man got out of the car and followed the signs to the main administrative offices. After going through the traditional security procedures, he was directed toward the office where prisoners were released. The release paperwork had already been completed, several hours earlier than he had been told. As he entered the office, the person he was waiting to see was already there, sitting patiently awaiting his arrival. Dana Katherine Scully was free. She stood, then stepped forward into Mulder's waiting arms. They held each other close for ages, not bothering to notice the office workers who had already seen a hundred such reunions, their impact long since faded. But for Mulder and Scully, the impact of this reunion would never fade from their memories. She inhaled him greedily, filling her lungs with his precious scent. More than anything else, he smelled of freedom and of everything she needed and loved. But they were still inside the prison. She tilted her mouth up toward his ear and whispered, "Let's get out of here." He nodded against her face and they separated. Scully watched him looking for the box containing her possessions and found only a small banker's box, lighter than he'd expected when he picked it up. It contained all she wanted to remember from the past eight months: a half-dozen books and the letters Mulder had sent her. Everything else had either been donated to the inmates' library or thrown in the trash bin. She wanted to be rid of all the reminders. She wanted to start anew. They walked together out of the prison and to the parking lot. Scully welcomed the heat of the midsummer sun - the faint smell of ozone and sweat was freedom. She was surprised to see the large SUV, but took the keys when he offered them and unlocked the doors, opening the back hatch for the box. As Mulder started the car and headed out of the parking lot, Scully realized that they had scarcely exchanged any words. But speech would ruin the moment. Right now they simply needed to be together, without guards or lawyers or visitation hours. They drove for a while, through the Baltimore suburbs, discussing their future. Scully had, of course, been terminated from her Bureau position when she was sentenced to two years for bond violation; Mulder quit six months later, wanting to make a new life for the two of them, away from everything their time there had brought them. He sold all his material assets - relics of his inheritance - and now had more than enough cash for them to live comfortably for a year or two. Mulder bought a small house in northern California, with the coast on one side and redwood forests on the other, a half-mile separating them from the nearest house. Where they could live in privacy. Scully looked down at the two air tickets he had handed her. One-way nonstop from Baltimore to San Francisco. Departing the next morning. "I booked us a room at a bed-and-breakfast in Raleigh for tonight," he told her. She felt a shiver run through her body. A night with Mulder. The first of many. When they were only about a half-hour from the airport, Mulder took out his cell phone and dialed a number. She heard him speaking to someone, confirming reservations. She watched him as he spoke, memorizing his face as he deftly steered the car and concentrated on his conversation. She loved him. The past eight months without him had brought that into crystal clarity. The summer sun was disappearing on the horizon when they finally reached the bed and breakfast. Mulder pulled the car up to the front driveway and stopped it, then got a small overnight bag out of the backseat. Scully opened her door and stepped outside. Freedom. Their room was beautiful. Furnished in soft colors and well-worn antiques, it felt as if it had its own voice, welcoming them. While Mulder disappeared into the bathroom, Scully slipped off her shoes and set the overnight bag on the floor, then sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed. Who was she now? The eight months since the trial had dampened public interest in her case, but she knew the word "murderer" would always follow her name in the eyes of others. Though she had no real desire to marry Mulder - they were not the marrying sort - one late night in her jail cell she had considered changing her surname to Mulder. She immediately rejected the idea. She would always be Dana Katherine Scully, for better or worse. Dana Katherine Scully, former F.B.I. agent, pathologist, convicted criminal. She - they - needed a fresh start, though letting go of the bittersweet past was a task beyond difficult. She stretched on the bed, watching the shadows lengthen along the ceiling. She then realized that Mulder had been in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes, so she stood and walked over to the door, calling, "You okay?" No answer. Brow furrowed with confusion, she raised her hand to knock but the door opened before her fist made contact. Mulder stood before her, fresh tracks of tears on his cheeks. His voice hoarse, he whispered, "Oh, Scully-" but before he could finish, she was seized with the desperate need to hold him. Her arms wrapped around him and crushed him close to her, and she stood on tiptoe as her mouth furiously sought his. Hers, he was hers. And she was his. Hands clenching, feet stumbling, they hurried over to the bed. With a light push he was on his back and staring up at her with awe and desire on his face, shining through the traces of pain. She needed to feel him under her, to feel everything they were and could be together. She needed him to wipe away the traces of her pain. The buttons of his shirt slipped through her fingers and she unzipped and pulled off his jeans and boxers. Then there he was, naked and already flushed and hard beneath her. Ready for her. Wanting her. Needing her. Scully leaned down and kissed his collarbone, then ran her mouth down his chest, opening her lips slightly so that her tongue could slip through to taste him. Each heavy breath he took pressed up into her body, thrilling her. Somewhere in the midst of touches and kisses and sighs, he became her. Once again filling the hollows his absence had created within her. Mulder raised his hands to her waist, inching underneath the cotton of her shirt. She stilled, telling him without words to wait, to allow her this brief indulgence of overcoming him before he could overcome her. Her mouth trailed downward, tracing along where his legs met his hipbone, two sinewy lines drawing an arrow down to his cock. He shivered beneath her, hips pressing into her mouth, begging for her. And she gave her mouth to him, burying her nose and lips in the chaos of hair and taut skin between his legs. Tastebuds reveled in the strange bittersweet taste of him, inhaling what taste missed. He pushed up to her and she owned him. But she didn't need to own him or possess him, just be here with him after a year of hell. Up and down, she moved on him, playing him like the bow of a violin. Teasing him until the sounds of his pants and moans and whispers of "Scully" filled her world. She wanted to bring him to release with her mouth, but then the logical part of her brain which had been neglected for so many months remembered that they were no longer young and that it had been so very long. This might be the only chance they would have that night. Scully had every confidence he could bring her over once and again with his mouth and hands, but this was their first time together in freedom and she wanted it all. Selfish, perhaps, but also honest. She slid her mouth up his length and then pulled away, standing on shaking knees as he raised his head, gasping and dazed as he looked at her. Her hands moved to the collar of her simple white shirt but, possessed with a strength she didn't think he would possess at that moment, he sat up and covered her hands with his own, pushing them away. Mulder began to unwrap her body and she closed her eyes, absorbing the sensation of being unclothed by him. A beautiful sensation, it was. The cool air of the room bathed her hot skin, showering over her. His hands were firm and coarse on her skin, excruciatingly sensitive from having gone so long without being touched, being loved. His gaze touched her everywhere his hands strove to reach, then his mouth followed his hands' journey. Her body sang an aria for him. Mulder's tongue and hands brought her close, so close to release, but her body resisted, unable to process these sensations it had lived without for so long. Legs refused to support her any longer and she allowed him to pull her down onto the bed next to him, their bodies parallel. Their hearts entertwining. The bed was soft next to his hard body. She sank down into the softness, clinging to Mulder, her life preserver. As he positioned himself above her, her muscles tensed involuntarily, fighting against the tidal wave of pleasure. Her lover entered her body, pushing into the space between her legs, his massaging hands trying to relax her. She wanted desperately to relax, but she had lived so long in anticipation of this that relaxing - letting herself go - was near impossible. He began a slow rhythm of thrusts, each one causing her leg muscles to tighten painfully. Mulder's hands sought out her clitoris, trying to help her along, to give her this. To let her go with the pleasure and let go of the pressure. And then when desperation began to overwhelm them both, she tightened around him and he came, spilling into her, flooding her belly with his warmth. Her arms snaked around him, holding him close and absorbing his ecstasy, willing it to spread into her. As he slowly came back to himself, he buried his face in her hair and she could feel the smile there. He said one word. "Scully." The tension was released and became bliss. Her climaxes had always been a physical sensation, but this was suddenly emotional. His joy became her own and spread through her like honey. He shifted his hips against her and the movement made his hand press into her clit again, a soft brushstroke which painted her with ecstasy. She came around him, into him. With her orgasm she came back to herself. And he was with her. Finally. +++++ Morning dawned. But this morning, they were together. Ready to begin their life of freedom. Ready to heal their scars. +++++ END. +++++alannabaker+++++ http://alanna.net "i'm a fountain of blood in the shape of a girl" -- bjork.