Message-ID: <35B52411.61BF@wmcstations.com>
Date: Tue, 21 Jul 1998 23:29:12 +0000
From: Lyle Bontrager <lbontger@wmcstations.com>
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Subject: Salue Mi Puellae (1/1)
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Title: Salue Mi Puellae (1/1)
Author: RM >lbontger@wmcstations.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.
Content: MSR, Small V, feel good. Rated G. 
Notes: This one's for Doug S. for giving me these words and not acting
too freaked out when I begged him to write it down for me. So if the
Latin's wrong, blame it on him.

~~~~~
Salue Mi Puellae
~~~~~
Salue mi puellae.

It's what he said every night, every night they finally let things fall
away from them in shuddering folds of relief.

Salue mi puellae.

Hard to spell, but beautiful to say.

Salue mi puellae.

==Hello, my girl.==

She liked it. It made her feel soft, made her feel like a woman and less
like the professional that chased aliens and conspiracies and Mulder's
theories like she had nothing better to do.

She had something better.

She had him.

And his whispered words every night:

Salue mi puellae.

Mulder could be beautifully touching, infinitely tender.

When he had first said it, one night in his motel room, watching her
walk in the door with her face scowling and her mood awful, she had
frowned at him, grown closed off.

It was Latin, that much she could tell.

For all she knew, he was teasing her in the dead language of ancient
times.

So she'd been reluctant to ask what it meant, and he'd grown embarassed
and been reluctant to say.

Which made her come to the conclusion that it was crude indeed, and that
she didn't want to even know.

Then, later, another night, he'd said it again.

Just as she came in close, ready to spout scientific jargon to knock his
socks off, ready to debunk another theory, ready to raise her shields,
defend her privacy, generally keep him out - he's whispered it out of
reflex.

She was most vulnerable at night. 

At night, when things could be overwhelming, when chasing everything got
to be too much, she seemed to hurt the most.

Hurt because she could not have the things she wanted, hurt because they
were so far apart and she could do nothing to change it.

And then his words:

Salue . . . mi . . . puellae. . .

It had knocked her down with its soft whispering sounds. The way it
rolled from his tongue and ignited something in her.

That night, the case had fled far away, the worries, the walls, had
crumbled beneath his words, his gaze.

And then she knew what he meant, then he spoke her the words to where
she could understand.

Hello, my girl.

So possessive, so claim-staking, so against everything she projected
herself to be, and yet, yet, this was what she liked, what she needed to
hear.

That she was someone's, that he would want her to be his, that the sight
of her walking into his room caused him to say this.

It made her feel good, whole, natural.

That night, they had talked like he truly wanted to, talked like she
wished she could always do with him.

It was a reflection of them, a gentle tugging at their impenetrable
defenses that sent them crashing down faster than Jericho.

Words had issues from lips, confessions wrenched from hearts, love
flourished in laughter.

And then a kiss.

And his words:

Hello, my girl.

It signalled a return to simplicity, a return to peace that they'd been
aching for.

Hello, my girl.
~~~~~

end
adios
How'd you like?
RM