Title: The Darkness of Arms Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. SPOILERS:::Up to First Person Shooter Written in celebration of my finished paper on :The House of Mirth:--don't you just love that feeling of being done? =-=-=-= The Darkness of Arms =-=-=-= Lily had no heart to lean on. . .As the pain that can be told is but half a pain, so the pity that questions has little healing in its touch. What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath. --The House of Mirth, Edith Wharton =-=-=-= The coffee on Friday always tasted of burnt bones and ashy skin, like a whole forest of abductees had been flamed in their coffee maker, the caffeine bitter and making them jumpy. It kept them from sitting well in the early morning, jumping around to grab folders, to run up a finished report, to fish around for forensics. When the Fridays were in the office, they felt the worst, the most not normal, and they glanced at each other guiltily all morning. In the afternoons, with lunch sitting warm and thick in their bellies, Mulder and Scully could find a kind of easy rhythm with the work, a balance of quickness and lightness that flooded through them like relief. Monday there would be a case, Tuesday a monster, Wednesday a killer, something else besides a dull monotony that set them up for a dull, resentful weekend. Dana Scully could feel the resentment drifting away inside of her, after lunch, and hoped it would not come back. She hoped, but it always came on those dull weekends. On the weekends following the burnt coffee Fridays, the office Fridays. That's why getting called to the office on a Saturday by Mulder had made her so playful, so teasing. Mulder had given her something to do, something to do with him. The pathetic-ness of the situation was not lost on her, but she had spent the fourth year of their partnership fighting it, only to wind up with a tattoo and cancer and a damaged Mulder. The fight was gone. It had left just as quickly as the bee had stung her. Just as sharply as the touch of his lips to hers on New Year's. Thinking about the brush of that night, the brush with death and with love, she had to smile. She looked over at Mulder and shared her smile, making him flicker to life with a smile of his own. "What's so funny?" he asked. She shrugged. "Just thinking." He didn't ask any further, merely turned back to his desk. She was surprised he hadn't pursued the conversation, but perhaps it had been enough for him to know that she was happy. That thought made her softly tender towards him, awed that he could have so little of her and it be enough. She always left early on Fridays. Once, long ago, leaving early was needed to make it on time to some prior engagement, some movie with college friends, some club with the agents who'd graduated in her class, or some dinner with a man. She had no more dinners, movies had fallen by the wayside, clubs were too loud and too impersonal. Of course, they always had been, but only now did she notice it. She couldn't help leaving early. If she stopped leaving early, it would be a sign of surrender. A white flag to her social life that she had given up, when in fact, she hadn't. Not at all. She found that she perferred going home to the silence and the trees growing in thin branches outside her windows. She perferred the wild hope that Mulder would call, Mulder would stop by, just Mulder. "Scully?" She glanced up at him, her head cocked and her lips parted as if to drink in the water of his words. "How many hours did Skinner say we had saved up?" "Vacation hours?" she asked, confused. "Yes. Vacation," he murmured, and the word rolled on his tongue like the waves roll in the ocean, rumbling and cherished. "I think a whole week's worth." He nodded and went back to his silent calculations; she knew he had not been doing X-Files work since four o'clock, but she had said nothing. "Why?" "Just thinking." The irony of his words had their impact and she looked stunned for a moment, then shook her head, remaining calm. She would not pry; she owed him that. However, she knew now what her obscure replies must do to him, and how much she had never appreciated his patience before. She stood up and walked over to his desk, then leaned across it and ruffled his hair with a smile. "I was thinking it was funny how slow we are, Mulder." He glanced up, needing no introduction to her topic. Those words had been on his mind since she'd said them, since she'd alluded to some great peace of mind and hadn't given him the same entrance in to that peace. "Slow in what?" he asked. "Slow in. . .in ourselves. Slow about understanding ourselves." She nodded and stepped back, waiting for something, and he realized she wanted to know why he was asking about vacation hours. He nodded back, affirming their transaction. "I was thinking about taking a few days off." was tagged on in her mind. She shook her head free of the connection and took in a breath to ask. "What for?" "To understand myself. . .Ourselves." She watched him for a moment longer, then nodded. "I see." He wanted her to see, but he had a feeling she really didn't. He wasn't going to be sitting around watching Knicks games and eating popcorn--he wanted to decide on a plan of action and follow through. He wanted to seduce her. Thing was, he had this crazy idea he had seduced her long ago, and she'd been waiting ever since then for him to do something about it. If the look of slow regret in her eyes was anything to go on, he wasn't that far off. =-=-=-= When it was five-thirty, Mulder was standing over the filing cabinets and he saw her struggle to put on her leather jacket, that black leather jacket he'd been admiring on her lately. She looked good in black, even better in leather, and he liked it when she buttoned it up all the way, making it tight and fitted across her chest and flare slightly around her waist. When she had grabbed her laptop and purse and was heading for the door, he turned to stop her, placing his hands at her shoulders. Her leather jacket was open and her blue shirt complimented her blue eyes and brown red hair. He liked looking in her eyes like this. She had an eyebrow raised at him and her foot tapped impatiently as he stood there, pausing for a moment. "Hold on, Scully. It's cold out there." With those words, he grasped the edges of her coat and began to button them slowly, starting from the bottom and working his way up. His fingers trembled at first, but soon his confidence rose as her eyebrow rose. She did not pull away, simply stared at him while he buttoned her up. When her got to her chin, he yanked on the lapels of the leather jacket and pulled her close enough to kiss her forehead. Her breath froze and her fingers came to his waist unconsciously before her hands fell to her side. He pulled back with a smile. "And don't talk to any strangers with candy." She smiled softly and turned around, pulling from the tight circle of warmth their bodies made. She was gone before he could catch his own breath, pushing out the door with her flare of self confidence and self consciousness. He dropped to his desktop and stared at his hands for a long time. =-=-=-= Scully pulled off her dress shirt with a sigh of relief, rolling her head on her shoulders to work out the kinks in her muscles. The heater had been on when she'd left for work that morning, but the sun had also decided to shine for most of the day and now her apartment was stuffy and thick with dry heat. She decided to forgo the T-shirt and padded barefoot into the living room in her pants and bra. She glanced around the room quickly, checking to make sure the blinds were all closed, then strode to the kitchen for bottled water and a Dole fruit popsicle. She took out a grape one from the freezer because it was her favorite, and curled up on the couch, licking at the juice already running down her fingers. After the six o'clock news was over she shivered and padded back into her room for the T-shirt, pulling it over her head and then brushing out her hair. It was that undecisive length again: last month she had simply chopped it shorter so she wouldn't have to deal with it, but she wanted it to be longer again. At the moment, it had a weird half curl in the back and hung straight at the sides, but she was determined to have it to her chin again. Maybe a bit longer. When they were on stakeouts, Mulder had always played with ends while she was supposedly asleep. He didn't anymore. She stripped off her pantsuit and pulled on dark blue jeans, zipping them up without having to suck in her breath. She'd been working extra hard on her abdomen ever since the gunshot wound to her stomach had healed, mainly for therapy. It had an added bonus. Mulder liked to poke her when she wasn't paying attention and raise his eyebrows at her muscle, or lack thereof. He hadn't done it in awhile, but she thought that might have been because of the scar. Barefoot again, she went into the kitchen for another popsicle. Grape again. There were only three left and she had another box in there too, with the cherry still inside. It wasn't as if she didn't like the cherry popsicles, but Mulder liked them better. It was the only desert she had in the apartment that he would eat. She heard the knock on her door just as she finished off the last lick of icey grape, and she smiled to herself and threw the stick into the garbage. The door opened as she stepped into the foyer and Mulder smiled sheepishly at her. "Come on in," she said, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. They were still numb. Mulder shut the door behind him and smiled at her, coming in close again. "Can I have one?" She smiled and licked her purple lips. "Sure." He followed her into the kitchen and she grabbed the leftover cherry popsicles, handing the box to him. He pulled two out and put the rest in the freezer, smiling at her in delight. "It's hot in here." "I left the heater on again," she explained. He nodded and bit into the popsicle. They both winced and he opened his mouth, breathing carefully as the cold shot through his teeth and into his jaw and through his brain. "Cold." She nodded, eyebrow piqued again. He swirled his tongue around the chunk of still frozen popsicle, trying to make it melt faster. "You're not supposed to chew popsicles, Mulder." He nodded and swallowed the ice whole, gulping. "I'll remember that next time." She led him into the living room, liking the feel of his one hand on her back as he followed. The popsicle was in the other and she could hear him slurping behind her. The room was too hot for popsicles, if that was possible. He stood as she sat on her couch, shaking his head at her invitation. "Don't want to drip," he said, and licked his fingers free of cherry juice. She shook her head and pointed to the stains that had inevitably gathered on the cushions. "Don't worry about it." He shrugged and came to sit beside her, unconcerned again. He licked the popsicle and watched the television, some old Leah Thompson movie in space. Mulder had recently developed a liking for Leah Thompson, in movies like Back to the Future. . .maybe because she was a cute redhead. Scully pulled her legs under her and wondered about why he was there. Yet, she had known he would come tonight too. And that he would stay all weekend without excuse, without invitation. She would let him. "Done," he said, and grinned over at her. She pointed to the trash can in the entryway and he stood up, heading for it. "What's for dinner?" She shook her head and felt his hands come to her shoulders as he stood just behind the couch. A quick squeeze of playfulness and then he was leaning on the back of the couch, his lips close to her ear. "I'll take you out somewhere." She leaned her head back to see him, surprise in her eyes. "Out to dinner?" "Yeah. Put on some shoes." She smiled and pushed forward, letting her feet touch the well worn carpet and the cold wooden floors. She felt Mulder follow her into her room and watch as she pulled socks from the dresser and her shoes from the closet. She wondered for a moment if he would try to tie her shoe laces as well. . . she had liked feeling his fingers button up her jacket. When she was ready, he took her hand and led her from the apartment, smiling. =-=-=-= The coffee house was thick with people and smelled like excitement: caffeine and wood and whipped cream and hot apple pie. They ordered hamburgers and french fries with frappacino and ice water. The ketchup came out slowly--like the understanding between them came out slowly, and it slathered over the fries and their hamburgers with a soft red symbolism. They sat across from each other in the dim place, looking through the cleanness of the room with eyes that saw new things. She could feel his gaze on her as she sipped the cold coffee and chewed on the ice flakes, and she gazed on him in turn, watching his jaw work as he snagged french fries or bit into his burger. "This is a good place," she said. He nodded. "Found it a few months ago." "How's that?" "Um. . .went looking for some coffee some Thursday night--" He stopped and glanced into his chilled mug, his tongue coming to push at his teeth. She knew he was thinking about how bad coffe was on Fridays, how the office was stagnated when they had to be in the office on Fridays, with the dread of the weekend. She knew it. She said nothing. "It was closed, I guess." "Yeah. Closed." Every Friday had bad coffee. It was now a sickly tradition. She wondered if it would ever stop. But this weekend was turning out to be more than she had wished for. "You want ice cream?" he asked, finishing off his hamburger with a lick of his lips. She smiled and glanced back down to her plate. There was still half of her hamburger and most of her fries left. "Maybe when I'm done." He pouted at her, but waited as she ate slowly, never able to rush--even for Mulder. She smiled at his faces, teasing him as she chewed meticulously and thoroughly. He growled at her and pushed the last bit of fry into the ketchup, then ate it ferociously. "Ready now?" he asked, through his chewing. Scully wrinkled her nose but nodded. "Sure. Hot fudge sundae." He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Read my mind." He signaled the waiter and they ordered one of the 'house' sundaes with two spoons. A family of four had one of the house sundaes at a table across from them and it was mammoth sized. She didn't think they'd be able to eat it all. When the treasure came, she eyed it speculatively and grabbed a spoon, bumping fingers with Mulder as he reached for his own utensil. They grinned and attacked the desert with their familiar coordination and unspoken communication, leaving the cherry on a white napkin to fight over later. When she was full, and nearly sick on ice cream, she sat back and dropped the spoon to her plate. "I can't eat anymore," she said, and watched him lick his spoon free of hot fudge. "I'll finish," he replied and kept at it while she shook her head and sipped slowly at a glass of water. =-=-= "I should have stopped," he groaned as she drove them back to her apartment. She gave him a knowing smile in the rear view mirror because he was splayed out in the back seat, his hands on his belly like a child. He was opening and closing his fist, and she remembered the poem about knowing you wouldn't die if you could still make a fist. She assumed he was remembering that as well. "I've got Pepto and Maalox at home. Take your pick." "Can I have both?" he muttered. "No." "Doctor's spoil all the fun." She smiled and clicked off the radio as her apartment came into view, then pulled into her parking spot at the back smoothly. She was trying not to jostle him; she had a feeling he was going to throw up sometime soon. "Why didn't you stop me?" he said softly and pushed open the door. She glanced to him in concern and bit her bottom lip. He wasn't sounding whiny and annoying anymore--he sounded wounded and deathly sick. "Mulder?" she said and put a hand to his head. "I'm gonna be okay. . ." He needed convincing of that. She helped him into the building and they took the elevator up to her floor, walked carefully to her door, and then dropped easily into her couch. "I'm not gonna throw up," he said as she went looking for a bucket, just in case. "Are you sure?" she said, pausing. "Yes." She nodded and sat back down with him, opening her arms to his pitiful look. He came to her immediately and burrowed his nose into her shoulder, breathing out softly. "Thanks. . ." he whispered. She smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead, certain of the healing effects of a touch. He looked like an overgrown child clutching to his mother, but she felt bad for him. She felt the comfort of their embrace and the need he had in him for the touch. "Feeling better?" she asked, and shifted to get comfortable. "Much. . ." She nodded and moved her hand to caress his cheek, soft and smooth and gentle, wanting to put him to sleep and needing to feel him in the dregs of a lightened Saturday. "Sorry about this," he muttered. She shook her head. "I like it when you come over." He grinned. "Then I'll come over every weekend and get sick on ice cream and pass out on your couch. How's that?" "As long as you wake tomorrow." He lifted his head and looked at her, seeking something undefinable. She merely reached out a hand and stroked the hair at his temple, then sighed. He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, then leaned forward and brushed his lips to hers. "I'll wake tomorrow," he promised. =-=-= end adios RM