Title: Noyade Author: RocketMan>lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Noyade--French, whirlpool SPOILER:::Orison =-=-=-= Noyade =-=-=-= Sitting slouched on the bed for too long made her back hurt and her chest sore and so she straightened up with a wince. Mulder was still watching her as if at any moment she could fly into a wild rage and destroy things. Not like there was anything left to destroy. The floor was sparkling with shards from her mirror, a tiny starfield among the thick beige carpet. She remembered crawling across that floor, digging her elbows into painful slivers, feeling the crunch of it under her chest. Her head throbbed mercilessly and she carefully ran her fingers through her newly cut hair, feeling for the wound and the large knot. "You should get some shoes on," Mulder said suddenly and gestured to her slippered feet. She glanced down slowly, having learned earlier that too much movement could make her head spin. Her ratty slippers had glass caught in the fringes and her toes were cold. "I need socks," she said and stood up, making her way to her demolished dresser. Mulder stopped her, shaking his head, then guided her back to the bed, making her sit down. "Let me get them. You'll cut yourself." She sat back down and let him rifle through her bottom drawer, then took the thick white socks from his outstretched hand. She toed off her slippers and drew her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she fumbled to pull her socks on. Tugging the material over her ankle nearly made her pass out, so great was the ache in her back muscles and the shakiness of her arms. She closed her eyes and yanked the socks up, ignoring Mulder's hovering help. He had produced her tennis shoes for her sometime during her epic struggle with the socks and she took them silently, stepping into the Nikes. Shoots of pain shattered her spine and she had to sit back down, breathing in and out carefully. The paramedics had promised that her ribs were not broken, nor her back, but that she would be bruised in the morning. She felt the bruises attacking her now. The back of her head was a bit swollen as well and she felt listless and dirty. She had killed him. Killed him. There was no guilt, and that brought her only fear. As she had confided in Mulder, she did not know what had driven her to walk into her living room, stare him coldly in the eyes, then pull that trigger. "You need to pack, Scully." She nodded and shook herself out of her lethargy, pulling out a duffel bag and unzipping it. She stuffed pantsuits inside and some underwear, then placed her brush and make-up on top of it all. Her shampoo and other bathroom things went into a little bag first and then inside. Mulder watched her throughout the brief whirlpool of her composed energy. The bag was on her bed when she realized her flannel pajamas were still clinging to her softly, and that her coat lie in the rubble of the place, no doubt littered with glass. Mulder stood and went to her closet, pulling out a short winter coat and giving her a serious smile. "You can wear your pajamas, Scully." He pulled her arms into the sleeves of her black coat, then tugged it over her shoulders, pulling the lapels together snugly and smiling at her. His body was radiating heat at her and she leaned in unconsciously, closing her eyes. Mulder took her gently into his arms, holding her carefully to not aggravate her sore body, one hand smoothing down the hairs at her neck. He liked the feel of her hair when it was freshly cut, the sharp edges to it and the silky feel. She felt bad, she felt wrong. Mulder was going to lie for her on his report and she was going to pretend that it had been self-defense, and maybe, in a way, it was. She was trying to make sure she never had to face him again--and that no one else did either. But she felt afraid, lonely and scared of the force in her, of the strange signs she'd seen and the connections. She seemed to be swirling down and down and down-- Mulder pulled back to watch her eyes slant in the dim light, brushing his fingers along her shoulders. "Don't look any further, Scully. Just let it go and leave it to your faith. . ." She nodded and let him take her bag, then her hand, and walk out of her bedroom. =-=-= The door rattled as he shoved it open, grinding his key against the tumblers. The lock had lately been stuck and it took a hard push to get inside. He swept forward, still jumpy and anxious, remembering the instant he'd felt that slow tendril of panic slide into his belly. The answering machine message and then calling her and hearing it ring forever. The thought that she might be next, that it was inevitable, had pounded into him like the ocean into the shore and he hadn't thought much after that. He turned around and Scully was still standing in the hallway with that blank look on her face that was scaring him just a bit. He dropped her bag in the foyer there, then took her hand and pulled her into his apartment, shutting the door behind them. "You can have the bed, Scully. . .Your back is going to be sore enough tomorrow as it is." She glanced up at him, then nodded, and her hair fell forward, just a little too short to keep tucked behind her ear. He reached out and pushed it back, letting it fall forward again over his fingers, like the touch of seaweed, thin and soft. "I don't want to put you out, Mulder-" Mulder shook his head and pushed her to his bedroom, gently touching the small of her back. "You're not." She let him turn the light on and push the coat off her shoulders, then lay it over the end of the bed. But she didn't feel like going to sleep and she definitely didn't want to deal with the nightmares that would come. She didn't say a word though, simply rubbed her finger and thumb together, standing still. She wanted to take a long bath, immerse herself in the hot water, but it would hurt. Her thoughts were strange and whirling about like water going down the drain. Mulder dropped his hand to her shoulder and rubbed it, then waited for her to look up at him. "Do you want to watch television with me for awhile?" he asked. A flicker of a smile drifted across her lips and she nodded. "Okay." She followed him out to the living room, watching his broad back as he moved through his apartment. She was trying very hard not to think about the thick taste of the gag, the burning tug of the bindings on her wrists. When she closed her eyes, she saw the carpet, glittering with pieces of her life, felt the sharp stabs of the mirror in her arms as she pulled herself forward. Mulder clicked on the television as she settled in next to him, but he felt that tense silence between them that meant Scully was feeling disconnected from him, thinking he didn't understand her. But he did, somewhat and somehow. She thought she was being talked to by God, she saw meaning in random occurrences. She wanted to believe. He did understand. He really did. The TV show was an old rerun of Dick Van Dyke and she seemed to be watching it intently, as if her sanity depended on it. He ran his fingers down her shoulder, then pulled her to his lap, letting her lie down. She stiffened slightly and glanced up at him, but he refused to acknowledge his movements as anything else. Don't look any further, he thought, urging her silently to let it go. She settled back into his lap, her head on his thigh and her body curled into the couch. He knew she had to be tired, but she wasn't letting her eyes close. She looked like a woman scanning the horizon for a change in the ocean, a subtle change that would let her know everything was safe again. "My things are ruined," she said softly. He stroked his fingers through her hair, just listening. "The mirror. . ." "What happened, Scully?" "He was in the closet. . .watching me." Mulder felt his mouth go dry and his hand stilled against her hair. "My clock. . .the lights went out. I felt it then. . .felt him in the room and I stepped to the closet, thinking my imagination was playing tricks on me." Mulder was watching her silently, sorrow creeping in at the blankness in her eyes and in her voice. "He slammed me into the dresser," she said softly. Mulder ran his fingers along her back, gently and cautiously, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the flannel striped pajama top. "Is my back bruised?" she asked. Mulder shrugged and inched her top up, wincing when he saw the deep, angry blues and purples splotching her skin. "Oh, Scully." He fingered the tattoo along the small of her back and the tiny nicks from where the cracked mirror had scratched her skin. "It's mostly along your shoulder blades," he said, and ran his fingertips across the bruises. She winced and he stopped, letting her pajamas fall back into place, readjusting the material over her back. "It hurts," she whispered, as if confessing her deepest secrets to him. "I know. It looks bad. . .do you want some Tylenol?" "I took some while you talked with the Marshals." He nodded and watched her while he traced the lines of her lips, smoothing his nail over the split and the dried blood, then to her chin. Her hair fanned out over her cheeks, and he smoothed it back and forth, his mind drifting into other thoughts. Her eyes were closed and she was slipping slowly into sleep, the feel of his touch like a gentle lapping wave across her eyes, her lips, her cheeks. "I think God directed you, Scully." Her eyes opened and she laid very still, absorbing his words. "You said God's a spectator, Mulder." "To me. Maybe you're special, Scully." She smiled softly, then sat up to look at him. He tilted his head and a flicker of a smile passed along his lips. The television show was in commercials and they blared from the screen, but the light cast blue illumination across her cheeks, highlighting her hair. She looked like she was underwater, a mermaid calling to him to drown with her. They spent a moment just looking at each other, Scully unwilling to explore her fears more and Mulder unwilling to let her go. Finally she shook her head and glanced to the clock. The spell was broken; they were in his apartment and the fishtank gurgled softly. "I should go to bed," she said. He let her stand and move back to his bedroom, only watched as she gave him one last look then disappeared. Maybe she was special. With Scully, he could believe anything. And anything could be. Even this gentle drowning between them. =-=-=-= end adios RM