Title: Waking Up Twice Author: Georgia Email: moonrock66@aol.com Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: SUZ, all things Summary: Frank said it, not me...we saw Scully wake up not once but twice in Mulder's apartment last season. Author's notes: Angst, sap, smut? Yep, we got em. ---------- The first two times could not have been more different. Darkness. That's how I remember the first night. A burning trail of darkness made up of tears unshed and feelings suffocated, pushed down and repressed until they ceased to struggle. They no longer had a will to live, no longer hoped to see daylight. Only extreme circumstances would send them gasping back to life. Like a victim, quietly accepting abuse until one day something snaps, pushing them out of fear into pure adrenaline. Like that, for us it was survival. I'd always wondered which it would be. Fire or ice. I'd pictured it more ways than I'd ever admit. Though I guess I never really believed it would happen. I held onto the dream, the fantasy, almost enjoying the self-pitying notion that I couldn't have what I wanted. Not ever completely sure I knew what I wanted. One move from either direction had always sent the other cowering in the corner. Mulder suddenly unwilling to kid with cavalier flirtations. Me unable to roll my eyes and ignore him or to meet him halfway. We were wound up in a safety that coddled, was our crutch, our excuse, held us so tightly that we needed nothing else. We believed we needed nothing else. That it was fire came as no surprise. His tears and pants of rage were warm, seeping through my blouse and into my skin. I'd held him gently at first, cradling his head, my fingers in his hair, whispering his name, quietly promising him that it would be okay. Soon my arms offered no comfort, his strength shifting to surround me, his arms taking my breath. He clung to me for his life, like a lost child reunited with his mother. My hands struggled their way up his chest, my need for air finally forcing me to call his name. The depth of his rage frightened me. I thought I'd seen every emotion he was capable of, but when he pulled back to look at me, his face was new. Twisted in pain and betrayal, unfeeling and unable to comprehend. I tried to touch his cheek, hoping to soothe him. But he jerked away like my fingers would burn, grabbing hold of my collar and drawing me toward his face. I was too stunned to realize for a moment that he was going to kiss me. Then it was too late. His lips sank down hard on mine, moving against me in an unforgiving frenzy. My mind thought to protest, about twelve emotions from regret to relief dancing across my consciousness. But my body would have no response, stealing from me both arousal and anger in an immobile shock. I knew I wanted this. I knew he did too. I also knew we'd both later regret the how. After a moment, my hands seemed to get the muddled message from my brain, coming up to press firmly against his shoulders. His only reaction was to hold me tighter, his arms anchored around my shoulders, his thighs now moving into play, tensing against my waist and hips to hold me in place. Another near shove finally drew his attention. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his glazed over eyes like they didn't even see me. It almost broke my heart to think that. That he wasn't even aware of what he was doing. That he would've taken refuge with any female body that crossed his path on this night. I opened my mouth to speak, but he finally met my eyes, looked at *me*, cutting me off. His eyes were dark, terrified. But they were his. He was there...with me. Still his words sounded hollow, like a long rehearsed prayer, once powerful, now a ritual, a last hope. "Please, Scully," he swallowed hard. "Please." My head dropped to my chest in a moment of sadness. This was the wrong way. He would regret it, feel guilty, hate himself for using me. And I would always wonder what our first time might have felt like, slow and loving and gentle, somewhere in the light rather than in this unseeing shadow. But in that moment, I could not deny him. I couldn't deny either of us any longer. I'll never forget his intake of breath when my hand dropped to his thigh, landing too high to be considered comforting, and squeezed with intention. It amazed me that such a small move would be the one to ultimately change everything between us. In the unreality of the moment, my hand felt cut loose from my body, like I was watching a stranger's fingers surrender to the melting heat that radiated through Mulder's pants leg. His breath began to pound in the silence of the room, fast, in needy pants like he was either about to cry or hyperventilate. Then in a jarring movement, that somehow managed to be gentle despite its lust driven intensity, he took my head in both hands. He waited there, held me still, until I looked up at him, my eyes rising slowly against the race of my heart. Then, he kissed me for all he was worth. There was no stopping that kiss. We went from friendship to intimacy in the time it took him to pull me into his lap. We could dismiss a kiss, tell ourselves it was meaningless. But we couldn't deny this, my fingers stroking up and down on Mulder's thigh, my weight resting in his lap, his hand cupping the fullness of my hip. I'd forgotten what it was like. Blocked it out. The absolute surrender to another. The heady, butterfly filled rush running along the course of nerves in my body. And my last thought before it turned to pure pleasure was Mulder. Finally. Looking back, I should've guessed it would be like that all along. Seven years is a long time to crave someone. To be inside their head, their heart. Willing to give up everything for another person, more in touch with their feelings, their emotions than your own. And in that self-sacrificing awareness, Mulder and I blew the boundaries off friendship, scorched our lips, our hands and burned right past our hearts, the hurried pull of our bodies once in motion, unstoppable. The weight of my shoes dropped to the floor with a staccatoed thud, my nylon covered foot scraping against the hair on Mulder's ankle. I felt a grunted moan at the contact as his tongue circled into my mouth sending me into a dizzying spiral. His hands were in my hair, sliding over my breast, twisting at my shirt, everywhere at once, yet each movement's pleasure registering separately in my brain. I began to move against him, unable to stop the rhythm he'd started inside me. I pushed deeper into his lap, the hardness of his erection seeming foreign for only a moment. This should be strange I remember thinking. But it wasn't. It wasn't. His hips began to rise in tempo with his breathing, my hands still unable to do much more than circle his back. He held me so tightly, like he wanted to possess me, like he would rather take me completely into his body instead of the other way around. But I needed him too. My hands grazed down his ribs, settling on his hips, my thumbs circling his hipbones. Slowly, I inched one hand between us, cupping and stroking the length of him. God, it was too fast. His breathing hitched, and he bucked in near pain against me. My name fell in a forced grunt from his lips, as he leaned back dying for control. But we were way beyond control, and I found that I liked it. My lips dove back toward his, our kisses now sloppy, all need, no rhythm. I felt his arms tighten around me as he lifted us both, taking about two steps to his couch, where he spread himself on top of me. Then it was my turn to panic. His weight on me was too much. I was going to go too fast. I glued my eyes open focusing on some crack in Mulder's ceiling, my legs opening wide to cradle him, my hopes for fighting all but gone. I threw my head back, my neck a target for his tongue as his fingers tugged at the zipper of my pants. He was desperate, no grace in his movements at all. With the pop of the button at my waist, the heat of his hand spread over my stomach, and lower, circling the dampness there. I think he'd meant to test me, to see if I was ready. But his hand slid under the last layer of cotton, a few strokes of his fingers all it took to finish me off. His name came out between pants as I fell away from the earth. Before I'd stilled, his shirt was off and his pants were around his ankles. I opened my eyes to a naked Mulder hovering over me. His hands had begun to shake as he jerked at the buttons of my blouse. Satisfied with skin down to my belly, he pulled my loosened pants down from my ankles. He slid both hands under me, inside my white Victoria Secret bikinis, squeezing gently as he pulled my underwear down. That I was nearly bare before him never even occurred to me. The only sensations I remember were heat and the need to touch him. My hands grasped for him like a drowning woman, finally stroking against his chest as he moved back over me. His skin against mine felt like honey, warm and saturating, like he might very well cover every inch of me. My hips pushed against him, and in the moment before he entered me, he opened the hook on my bra, leaning to suck a nipple between his lips. It was one second of fire, his teasing mouthing planting itself firmly over mine as he pushed inside me. It was over far too soon. He'd left me trembling from the first waves of pleasure, my body unable to recover against the slide of his erratic thrusts. Deeper, the friction increased, driving me higher until it was unbearable. An embarrassing "God, don't stop" escaped from my mouth. He shuddered at my voice. The knowledge that I'd so affected him was more powerful than any physical touch, catching me off guard and tossing me recklessly over the edge like a bird caught in a strong gust. And in that moment, I prayed to God that such sweetness would come to me again soon. Mulder's own words to God followed, virtually undecipherable, as his body tensed, his face wracked between joy and agony. I thought I'd seen the start of tears, but I knew for sure when he collapsed against me, his damp cheeks hot against my neck. And we slept hard, like that all night, the warmth of him pressing me into the soft leather beneath me. Hours later Skinner's knock woke us, me recovering quicker than Mulder. I slid out from under him, rebuttoning my shirt, putting my pants and shoes back on, pushing him toward the bathroom. We never said a word about what had happened. But after that our physical presence was different. Evident, you might say, like that morning in the doorway with Skinner. The chemistry that used to battle back and forth between us was now constant, unchanging. I finally understood what that poem about the Third Body meant. The air between us, took on a living breathing life of its own. Like we were touching even when we were not, that our glances fell on and caressed this being that connected us. And he did touch me more often. There was no denying our new level of intimacy. But there was no offer to repeat it. His touches were gentle, reverent. More like those for a wife on her deathbed than for the woman with whom he'd had the best sex of his life. I was sure he thought I'd sacrificed myself for him, given myself over for his need, his comfort. He was berating himself for the way it happened. For his weakness, for being selfish. The other more horrifying option kept me from pushing the subject. And I started to doubt. Maybe faceless comfort was all he had needed that night. Maybe it had nothing to do with me. Maybe he'd called my name out of correctness. Maybe he thought it was a mistake. It was in this mindset that I entered a Buddhist temple, saw my life, my path before my eyes. And in this doubt, I revisited the past, saw what my life might have been, who I might have loved. Clarity comes when we least expect it, at our lowest, in the dark. And I realized that the night of darkness with Mulder had been my moment of clarity, my turn off the main road toward the future. I vowed we would not turn back. ---------- The second time was light. Every kind I can think of...star, sun, candle, moon and mostly, the blue light of an aquarium. I felt the blanket cover me, felt him move away, then turn back to brush his lips across mine. My eyes wanted to open, but I was tired, weary through to my soul. I woke a few hours later and found him staring into the aquarium, like another might gaze into the dancing embers of a fire, like he thought the answers of the universe lay in a case of glass with week old fish and plastic plants. He heard me stir, his eyes jumping to me in a single, measured leap. It wasn't just the aquarium he'd been watching. "Sorry," I whispered attempting to find my voice, leaning back with a stretch. He said nothing, just sat, eyes fixed on me, waiting until I turned back to him. The force of his words hit me from across the room. "Give me another chance to do it right." "Mulder," my head began to shake at the wrongness of his words, my mind tripping over itself in relief. "You don't need another chance." "I used you." "No." I looked away, the words impossibly heavy on my tongue. "I wanted it as much as you did." Out of the corner of my eye I could see him flinch. His head dropped into his hands, then he rose and began to pace. "I needed someone," he began slowly. "And you were there...and I...just couldn't stop myself," he finished with a sigh. I understand Mulder guilt. I practically have a Phd in it. But I'd just admitted that I wanted him, and he'd said that he needed *someone*. Damn his guilt. I wanted the truth. "Are you saying you would have made love with anybody that night? Or that what we had was just meaningless sex?" He stopped pacing and turned to look at me incredulous. "Of course not." "Of course not what?" "Damn it, Scully. I...it wasn't meaningless." "No. It wasn't," I repeated, my head falling toward my chest again, my breath catching in my throat. I could tell his back was toward me. His voice bounced off the window. "I meant that you were there..." he took a deep breath "and I've wanted you a long time...and that night I just couldn't stop it." "Mulder, come over here," I said smoothing the leather beside me. He shook me off, turning back to the window. "Please? Let me finish what I was trying to say before." After a moment he turned with a sigh and sunk onto the sofa next to me. The warmth of his leg settled against mine as he slouched, head back, eyes on the ceiling. I took one of his fidgeting hands from its place on his stomach, his fingers finally relaxing in mine. My words came slowly, with the hope that he'd understand despite my lack of emotional fluency. "I don't know if there's one path, Mulder. Or a hundred roads leading a thousand possible directions. But there's one thing I've come to believe..." I heard his breath hold, waiting for my words, his hand taking mercy on my hesitation and squeezing gently. "This was meant to be." His eyes fixed on my hand in his, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. I thought he was still brooding. His words couldn't have surprised me more. "I don't doubt that. I never have," he said in a voice of completely bare honesty. "I'm just sorry," he said turning to me. "I'm sorry for how it happened." "I'm not, Mulder," I swore, my hand sliding down his cheek. "It was what we both needed. It was just time." I could see the memory flash before his eyes. Amazement, fleeting and giving way to grief. And I hated that to him the moment carried a weight like guilt. His eyes searched mine, looking for my reason, a way to see it like I did. "Even if it was all take and no give?" "Mulder as I recall, you gave twice on my behalf." That shocked him. The look on Mulder's face was priceless, his mouth open like he couldn't believe I'd said it. My own lips turned up in a satisfied grin. It wasn't often I got the better of Mulder in the innuendo arena. And in a moment, his own face turned, his entire being completely altered. Like child who'd tied his first shoe or lost his first tooth, Mulder's features began to shine with wonder and pride. "So you might be persuaded to do it again?" he ventured. "Sometime?" "You might say that," I answered with feigned casualness. The delight of that admission bounced back and forth between us, the air shifting from hope to astonishment, until we were grinning like two anxious teenagers, all we could do to keep down a full toothed smile. In a nervous reflex, Mulder reached up to push my hair behind my ear as he had earlier when he thought I was sleeping. "God, Scully. Are we doing this?" I nodded quickly several times emphatically. Mulder's sigh of relief sounded like he'd been holding it for seven years. Or at least since the last night we'd spent on his couch. His hand rose to cup my cheek. "Do you know..." he started, his intense gaze causing me to shift my eyes from him. This part still scared me. I knew it was dumb, but like I'd expected his body to seem strange on that first night, I thought tender words from his lips would sound foreign. So not us. "Scully?" My eyes darted cautiously to his, then seeing the danger still there, back to the safety of the sofa. "Do you know how much you mean to me?" I nodded my head, not wanting him to say it. I did know. I did. My eyes shifted between black leather and unstable green, trying to convince him. But he would not be dissuaded, eyes on the verge of a revelation. "Mulder..." I attempted, but he cut me off. "I'm in love with you." Well, there it was. Seven years of denial out the window. I'd been able to dismiss his Florida hospital "I love you" a few years before, telling myself it was the drugs talking. Of course I'd known it was true. I also knew that the reverse was true. I just wasn't prepared to say it back then. I didn't find it much easier that night on the couch, my words strung together about as smoothly as a toddler's. His eyes stung in near regret at my silence. Not doubt, I could tell, instead bordering on anger. He knew how I felt. He just wanted to hear me say it. He deserved to hear me say it. "Me too, Mulder," was all I managed, my mouth going completely slack with it. His eyes held mine a little longer, almost hopeful, trying to determine if that was all I had. The most I was capable of. Then, with a half-nod he let me off the hook. "Good," he whispered as his lips met mine. The kiss was so tender it almost stole my next breath. He'd settled for less so often in his life, believing he didn't deserve anything more. I would not let him settle this time. I pulled back, smoothing the question away from his lips with a brush of my fingertips. I know he saw it first in my eyes. The emotions felt at home in my gaze, so often reflected at him. But the words formed with unaccustomed effort on my lips. "I love you, Mulder." The flash of gratitude across his features made me want to say more. "So long," seemed to be enough, his mouth taking anything further I had to say inside him. This kiss scorched like sun-baked concrete on bare feet. Hot on contact, burning at the start. Then a warmth settling in, heating everything it touched. And I knew that night he would possess me, body aside. As I left the next morning, I paused to watch him sleeping. His face, wrapped so gently in the warmth of a dream, shook fresh memories in me like coins from a bank. And I wanted to wake him, but I didn't. I had something inside me, like a secret, that I wanted to keep to myself for a little while longer. I'd woken up with Mulder twice. The first time with my body. The second with my heart. I don't think I'll ever sleep again. end. ---------- Thanks for reading. This is my 25th posted story believe it or not. So it seems like a good time to say thank you to everyone who's sent a kind word my way. Special thanks to my friend Marie. She was nice enough to beta a few versions of this story and to remind me to soar above the turkeys :) Happy New Year! moonrock66@aol.com