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JUST ANOTHER SLEEPLESS NIGHT
By Char Chaffin
MSR, R, Post-Closure
Spoilers: Early Season Seven, "Emily", brief mention of "Detour" Disclaimer: Clones on LoanDedication: To Sallie, who smiled when she needed to and who asked for first-time "Closure" as a reward for doing so!
Thanks: to Tess, Carol and Robin for the quickie read and zippy beta! Thank ya, my dears!
"Just Another Sleepless Night"
I sometimes think it's a shame we've both been blessed - or cursed, depending on how you look at it - with questioning, analytical minds. It's kept me awake on nights when I most need some sort of replenishing sleep; it's done the same to Scully. For as many times as I've called her in the middle of the night complaining that this or that idea or thought - or worry - was keeping me awake, she has returned the favor. Maybe not as often as I've called her, but she's had her share of sleepless nights, too.
I remember once, not long after Emily's funeral, Scully called me at four in the morning. I'd been dozing, TV muted low, all the lights out. Her voice had been thick with tears and I'd sat on my sofa with the phone cradled to my ear, listening to her grieving and wishing like hell she'd just let me come over so that I could comfort her properly.
I'd murmured those very words to her, my own voice hoarse with sympathy. Her reply hadn't really surprised me. "Mulder, I... thank you, but I need to get through this on my own. You can't help me or speed up the grieving period. Nobody can."
I rubbed my tired eyes with one hand, picturing her curled up on the end of her sofa, wiping at the tears I could hear over the receiver, and my heart just broke for her. I'd cajoled gently, "That's true. I can't speed it up for you. But I can hold you, Scully. I can comfort you with actions if not words. You could cry on my shoulder instead of into your telephone."
"No. It's not that I don't appreciate it, Mulder. I do. But if you came over here and I leaned on you, I wouldn't regain any level of strength. You know that. It was the same when your father died, remember? You had to do it alone. When Missy died, too... somehow we've both needed to mourn by ourselves, regroup alone. It's just the way we are."
She was right. It WAS the way we were, back when we were younger and had less partnership, friendship, caring, whatever you want to call the measure of what we meant to each other... we needed to stand alone. At the time, I was sure I understood, and I agreed softly into the phone, murmured to her a few minutes more and didn't protest when she hung up the phone. I didn't call her back and when we met in our office the next morning, I followed her conversational lead; the phone call wasn't mentioned again. Over the next few years, whenever one or the other of us had overworked-brain-syndrome and couldn't sleep, we still exchanged phone calls. Everything more or less stayed the same as it had always been.
Until two nights ago.
In the small, dark hours of the morning I hold her in my arms and think of how this all started, with nothing more than a phone call. This time I was the one doing the calling. Two days ago I buried my sister... more or less. Days before that I'd stood in a dreary graveyard and buried my mother, the last known living member of my biological family. Other, unrelated family stood on either side of me, lending their support. Scully, holding my hand. Skinner, standing beside me and offering silent strength. Even the guys had come and were grouped behind me; I could feel their three-fold caring, awkward and self-conscious but present all the same, aimed right at me. No words were spoken; none were needed. Their quiet presence got me through that black day. They bolstered my inner fortitude. I knew I could make it, regardless of what I later would discover about my sister.
A few days ago we did it all over again, this time with a small marker next to my parents' gravesite. Above ground that would never be dug out to enclose a casket, I'd had the inscribed stone placed. Samantha's name, her birth date, estimated date of death and the words, "Sister and Daughter, Most Beloved." I'd put the word 'sister' first because I'd always felt she belonged more to me, than to my parents. I refused to allow any guilt feelings to surface as I'd written out the instructions to the monument company. I'd been amazed at how quickly they'd finished the job; maybe they'd felt sorry for me. At any rate I got the deed done, and this time with only Scully at my side, I laid my sister to rest, at last.
But this time I couldn't make it alone, as I'd been able to in the past. This time when it all hit me in absolute waves, I picked up the phone and I called Scully.
"It's me. I can't sleep. I can't stop my brain from thinking. I can't seem to stop my eyes, from seeing..." My voice threaded out to nothing as I clutched the phone to my ear like a lifeline.
She never hesitated, never said a word about the lateness of the hour, the fact that she'd have to drive through the rain to get to me. She merely said, "I'm on my way, Mulder," and hung up gently, before I could admonish her to take a cab. I sat, holding the receiver in my hand, until she got there. I must have self-induced myself into a trance because I never heard her at the door, unlocking it. My first awareness of her arrival came when she tugged the phone out of my hand and then pulled me into her arms.
I didn't cry; I was curiously beyond tears. It's not that I curled into a fetal position in Scully's embrace and moaned aloud of how alone I now was, an orphan, sibling-less, the last of my direct line. I knew I still had family; they just were not of my blood. The connection I'd felt with her, with Skinner and with the guys at the funeral... that was all still in place. There was my family. But for the first time my grief manifested itself into a need to feel another body against mine. Call it comfort, call it something else; didn't matter. It was what it was, and I needed it.
So, I discovered later, did Scully... more than even she knew.
I can't say when the small touches of empathy turned into something else. It seemed one moment Scully's hand was pressed against my face, holding my cheek to hers, and the next moment I'd turned my head a little and caught her bottom lip in a kiss. Not one of gratitude, not exactly; more than friendship and somewhat less than blatant passion. It wasn't a continuation of that sweet but milquetoast kiss of New Year's Eve, but a kiss that defied description. Like my need for her physical presence, it simply was what it was.
Suddenly craving more, I moved my lips a little and covered her mouth fully, gave her the kiss I'd always wanted to give her. Full and open, hungry, tongues touching and twisting together; one breath, issued together. She cupped my face and kissed me back, just as intensely, just as deeply. When I felt moisture at the corner of my mouth my eyes opened, to see tears overflowing her eyes. I somehow knew she was crying not only for me, but for her own losses as well. I wrapped my arms around her tightly, kissed her and kissed her... and with those tears of hers I felt the ice around my own emotions splinter, break. I still didn't cry, but all that emotion, which normally would have backed a severe bout of tears, poured itself instead into the kisses I gave her and the way I held her.
There was no question of whether this initial physical expression would become intimacy. We both knew it would. Years of caring, of loving... how could it not? We'd been alone for so long. Even in a roomful of people, we were alone. Standing shoulder to shoulder, more often than not we'd still be alone. Whether out in the field on a case or eating a makeshift dinner at her place, or mine... somehow we were such solitary people. She knew me better than anyone else in the world ever had, and I think I knew her the same way. But those damned barriers had erected themselves with little or no assistance from either of us, based on who we were and what we did day to day.
All of them came crashing down so quickly, once we finally allowed that expression free rein.
At the time I didn't agonize over the worry that our need to be intimate was couched in nothing more than sympathy, either from me or from her. I wasn't thinking to myself, 'Well, Scully's only touching me this way because I'm such a sorry loser,' or, 'God, she needs a man, I need a woman; guess we're both going to step up to the plate.' Comfort sex was never fulfilling past that first rush; we both knew it. Sex for any other reason beyond love was worth less than the time it would take to move through the motions and achieve the final climax. I wasn't the type to have sex for the sake of sex, and neither was Scully. Otherwise what we did that night would have been an act we both could have put behind us when it was all over.
It was more important than that. It meant far, far more than that.
I kissed her eyes, catching residual tears with my mouth, feeling her smile against my chin as I did so. When my hands slipped under her sweater and found only soft skin, she sighed and pushed closer, giving silent permission to touch her, undress her. Wanting to do just that, still I denied myself the joy of discovery, preferring to make my way as if blind, learning the texture of skin I'd already seen nude but had never touched in quite this manner, except in my own fantasies.
I stroked my palms over her small nipples, recalling perfectly how sweet they were, framed in the firm flesh of her breasts. They beaded against my fingers and I bit back a groan of delight at the way they responded to my touch. I nuzzled her throat as I slipped my hands up and down her spine, along her sides; feeling the delicate ribs and the subtle play of musculature there. I loved the curl of her arms around my shoulders, the way her lips closed over the pulsing artery in my neck, the urgency in her voice when she next pressed those lips against my ear and entreated, "Mulder, please... skin, I want skin..."
It took a moment for me to realize she was talking about my skin. I stifled an inane urge to chuckle and instead pulled back until she could reach the hem of my tee shirt and tug it up and over my head. Immediately she pressed close again and I found my mouth, tongue and probably my tonsils all firmly engaged in one of the deepest, most probing kisses I'd ever experienced. I speared my fingers into her hair and returned it all, every bite, nip and probe.
We slid sideways on the sofa and I hovered above Scully, brushing tangled hair from her face, staring down into her luminous eyes and thinking I'd never seen a more beautiful sight. A thousand words of love and desire churned in my head, demanding to be spoken, yet I couldn't seem to say even one of them. Maybe after the loving I'd retain enough presence of mind to speak, but for now I could only show her...
Which I did.
Those first hours of us together pass over my mind in significant bits and flashes as she curls against my side, asleep and hopefully dreaming good dreams. For me, the dream is the one I hold in my arms, one I never thought I'd have. I stroke her silky hair and recall the damp taste of it against my lips when I kissed her neck, her ear. I trail my fingers down her arm and feel again the strength of them as she held onto me, so tightly. I gaze at her sleeping face and replay the wonder in those blue eyes of hers; the same wonder I know must have been reflected in mine... that it was so incredible, our first coming together.
We'd slipped out of our remaining clothes, both of us barely willing to release each other long enough to get them off and out of the way. In the dimness of my small living room her body was pale and perfect, delicate, and yet I knew its innate strength. She'd once held me all night in a cold forest; she'd lent her physical support so many times, keeping me steady on my feet. Any worries I might have had, that my own weight might be too much for her, well... those worries were dispelled when she pulled me down to her; when her legs parted and then coiled around my waist, locking me against her. She was wet and warm and welcoming, and I slid inside her in one long, smooth thrust.
We both groaned.
Loving Scully defies description; I recall every moment of it, two days later, and I still can't frame it properly. If pressed to write it in words of two or less the best I could come up with would be 'all-encompassing.' It was more than I'd ever known lovemaking to be. It completely took me over, reshaped my mind, recast my fate. It changed everything, and for the better. Until Scully, I had never melded so fully with another woman; mind, body and soul. And as I moved within her, holding on for dear life, locking eyes with her because I couldn't bear to miss a single instant of how her response was reflected on her face... I knew that for whatever secondary excuse we made, the primary reason for our new intimacy had to be love.
In the meshing of our bodies I discovered a wealth of passion within myself that I didn't even know I possessed. I wanted it to last forever, never wanted to leave the sheath of her, the clean and tight good of her, clasping me. When she tensed, shuddered; then cried out my name, it felt as if all the heavens were in perfect alignment, the yin of my existence had finally met her yang, all was right and proper in my previously sad little world... and the explosion triggered by her release shook me to the very bone, leaving me almost unconscious.
It was the first time in my life I'd actually blacked out from climaxing.
I think about it now and I can't stop the dumb grin that spreads over my face. No doubt if I looked into a mirror I'd surely resemble a baboon. I can feel my body starting to stir again, just in recalling those hours, though I'd be hard-pressed to find another burst of lust that would result in a decent erection. I'm so very drained, and yet in the best possible way.
After that first time; after we'd both come down from the utter high of it, Scully had stirred beneath me and I'd immediately tried to move away, positive I was crushing her. She'd clamped her arms around my waist and had whispered, "Stay, Mulder. Right where you are. It feels so good."
I'd stayed. Still inside her, willingly captured within flesh that fit around me so lovingly, I'd managed to turn us both until we lay on our sides, face to face. I had so many things I wanted to say. Thoughts bubbled up, trying to form into words, all of the things a man usually never has the need to say, right after sex. Except this wasn't just sex. This was loving a woman who'd been the focus of my life for so long. This was the consummation of a relationship that had been seven years in the making, four of which I'd known with utter certainty contained love on my part.
I should have fallen asleep holding her. Instead, I let my damned analytical, questioning mind run loose with my tongue.
"We can't let this ruin our friendship. We can't let it hurt what we already have together. I love you so much, Scully... and I want you to know how much this has meant to me, even thought I realize you were only trying to comfort me..."
She clapped a hand over my mouth to shut me up. I was babbling. Usually I never babble. At least I don't think I babble... I became aware that I was trying to talk against her palm, however, which was proof positive that I did indeed babble. Scully pressed my mouth harder and I quieted, figuring she had something to say first.
Which she did.
"Mulder, I didn't do this out of the need to simply comfort. I didn't come over here just because I thought you needed comfort, although clearly you did. You still do. I'm here because in a situation like this, you should be around the person who loves you best. I didn't make love with you in pity, compassion or anything else your insecure mind can think up. I'm here for the love. It's as simple as that."
I took instant exception to some of what she said, at first not hearing the word 'love.' "Insecure? I'm not insecure!"
Scully sighed deeply. "You're often insecure when it comes to knowing and accepting your own human worth. I am, too. In that as well as in other ways, we are so alike, Mulder. Sometimes I think neither of us wants to imagine anything good happening in our lives."
She curved her hand around my neck and pulled me close, until she could reach my lips to kiss me. She put so much love into that kiss that I couldn't possibly confuse it with anything else; then she leaned away a little and murmured, "I would give everything to take away the pain of what you've had to go through. Your mother... your sister. Just as I know you wanted to do when I lost my family... my little girl. Making love from grief isn't merely sex for comfort's or pity's sake, Mulder. It's a way to start the healing process. Using each other to help that process is what people in love do when tragedy broadsides them."
Her tender admonishment went a long way toward ridding me of those insecurities I claimed not to possess, and I pulled her very close and buried my face in her hair, too overcome to speak. She stroked the back of my neck; added, "As for your other concern... nothing can alter our friendship, Mulder. Some of the best friends in the world are lovers to each other. My dad was my mother's very best friend. I know the worry you have, that this changes things. It can't help but change things, that's true, but I'm thinking those changes are for the better. We have to make sure they're for the better."
Her eyes were damp when they locked to mine, and I could feel moisture gathering in my own, too. I cupped her face in my hands and tried to speak around the giant lump in my throat. "I want this to work, Scully. So much. But I can't pretend there won't be difficulties. I won't ignore the odds that I feel are against us. Some of the focus of our work has been diffused but the threat is still there, still very real. We both know it. We have to find ways to protect what we've chosen to share. We have to protect each other."
"We will, Mulder. We're not a couple of horny kids wearing blinders, you know. We have balance, leverage, we have... what are you doing?" For my mouth had started to wander while she talked of how mature we both were, and her voice tapered from confusion to squeaky comprehension when she realized where I was headed.
Against her silky, damp heat I muttered, "I take grave exception to the idea of us not being in the 'horny' category, Scully. Speak for yourself." I smiled when she started to tremble and outright grinned when her trembles blossomed into shudders, as I opened her gently, kissed her passionately, right in the very heart of her. She wound her fingers into my hair and held on tightly; I let my tongue and my own fingers talk to her, better than words could ever express.
The room is lightening, a muted sunrise trying to break in around the drawn blinds at the windows. I think I dozed a little, but mostly I've been lying here holding Scully, letting my mind drift. Well, at least the side of it that's not overly analytical and questioning, that is.
My mother once told me to never look a gift horse in the mouth. I used to think that phrase meant that we should be grateful for any and all presents we receive, but now I know it refers to the legend of the Trojan Horse, itself. How if we don't look closely at something that's offered to us, we might not find the flaw, the exception, the loophole. If danger is there, cloaked in the gift, we might bypass that danger completely because we were too enchanted with the idea of receiving a gift in the first place, to question its origin and its purpose.
Perhaps I've been spending too many years convinced I was seeing the loophole, thus tossing flaws and exceptions in the path of the gifts that might have been nothing more than what they appeared to be: something good in my life; something needful, happy, a slice of contentment that I'd rather have denied myself. Maybe the human existence has always been destined to have a mix of good gifts, bad gifts, some hiding an army of trouble and others offering exactly what they represent. I spent some years looking for the army when I should have accepted the gift at face value.
My sister was a gift; so is Scully. The gift of my sister hid an army... but Scully's value is real, powerful and all for me.
As sunlight streaks into the room I feel my gift stirring, awakening slowly, to wrap her arms around me, smile up into my face with sleepy eyes, kiss my mouth softly. The day will loom before us as usual, laden with its own difficulties, potential problems and possible armies. How we choose to deal with it - and with each other - is up to us. How we find our own balance of closure is also our choice.
We're stronger together. We always have been. We always will be.
End
Additional Note: I've written post-Closure before, quite happily. It's a poignant and lovely episode to extend and enhance. And it's always a pleasure to write something for my friends when they ask for it!
If you enjoyed this story, please feed the author.
Title: JUST ANOTHER SLEEPLESS NIGHT
Author: Char Chaffin
Details: 20k · R · Standalone · 01/01/06 · Email/Website
Gossamer Category(Keywords): Story [Romance, Angst]
Characters: Mulder/Scully
Pairings: Mulder/Scully romance
SPOILERS: Emily, Detour, early Season Seven
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