TITLE: Close to the Deadline (1/7)
AUTHOR: Nadine
EMAIL ADDRESS: dana@skinnerholics.zzn.com (Feedback always welcome!)
ARCHIVE: (Don't know why anyone would want to, but anyway)
Anywhere you want, just keep my name attached and
drop me a line, please
SPOILER WARNING: Up to and including Memento Mori
RATING: PG (future parts will be NC-17!)
CONTENT WARNING: MSR (eventually)
CLASSIFICATION: S/A
SUMMARY: Scully is afraid that now that she is so close
to death, she will never be able to reveal her true
feelings to Mulder.
DISCLAIMER: The characters (and the monologue at the beginning)
are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 productions,
and, when you think about it, they also belong to Gillian
Anderson and David Duchovny. Though they have been used
without permission, I have no intention to profit from
their use.
Big thanks to Velvet for beta reading, suggestions and support!
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Close to the Deadline (1/7)
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For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat.
The seconds pumping in a my breast like a reckoning.
The numinous mysteries that once seemed so distant
and unreal threatening clarity in the presence of a
truth entertained, not in youth, but only in its
passage.
I feel these words as if their meaning were weight
being lifted from me. Knowing that you will read
them and share my burden as I have come to trust
no other. That you should know my heart, look into
it; finding there the memory and experience that
belong to you -- that are you -- is a comfort to
me now as I feel the tethers loose and the prospects
darken for the continuance of a journey that began not
so long ago and which began again with a faith shaken
and strengthened by your convictions.
If not for which I might never have been so strong
now as I cross to face you and look at you,
incomplete. Hoping that you will forgive me
for not making the rest of the journey with you.
xxx
Scully?" he asks.
"Yeah?" I answer.
"You alright?"
"I'm fine, thank you", I answer automatically, knowing
the words won't satisfy him.
"Sure you are." He looks straight into my eyes,
his face not betraying his concern.
"Yes, I am", I tell him, my voice not accepting any protest.
I turn away to continue my work. The discussion is finished,
I tell him without words.
I try to ignore him, glad to have the files in front of me
to turn my attention to.
I'm tired of his questions, his looks that are drilling
into my eyes, searching for the reason of my uncomfort.
Over and over again.
I'm tired of his concern, his sympathy.
He's always around me, asking me if I'm alright,
knowing he'll always get the same trite answer.
But he just doesn't seem to realize he'll not get
through, I tell myself. But then I think, sure he has
already realized. He's the educated psychologist after all,
and over that, he knows me better than any other
person- sometimes I get the impression he even knows me
better than I do. I suppose he wants to get access to my
deepest feelings under any circumstances.
He wants me to say the words. Something like
*I'm afraid of what's going to happen to me* or
*I don't wanna die.*
But that's not the point. These are not my most
personal secret thoughts buried in the very soul of me.
I know they should be, but they're not.
It's something else. Something that's tearing on me,
ripping my soul apart yet something I can't confess
to him unless I want to screw up the time we have left.
That lousy little amount of time.
I mean, I should be worried, upset, fearful, grieving
about my terminal disease. It's not that I'm not,
but... there *is* this other thing that makes me
have trouble sleeping, makes my stomach turn over
at times, makes tears come to my eyes all of a sudden.
Without the cancer, I wouldn't feel this...
uncomfortable about it, could tell myself there's
still enough time, wouldn't feel so close to deadline.
Ha, deadline. What a wordplay.
And his behavior makes it worse without him knowing it.
He treats me like all the others who know about my cancer.
Mum, Skinner, Bill... *Dana, everything alright?*
*How do you feel?* *May I help you?*
Poor dying little Dana.
I mean, their sympathy is just natural, it's alright.
But Mulder... I didn't expect it from him. Not that I'm
angry about it, he truly feels sorry for me, and I'm glad
he does so, that's for sure. But he doesn't behave like
he has the feelings I hoped he had for me. I always hoped
he would touch me, be near me with his body, comfort me
physically when I need it, be... be more than a friend
to me.
So desperately I wished that in this short time we have
left together, he would finally make the step and show
me his love.
But as things are now looking, there is no love at all.
At least not from his side.
And I hoped, wanted, needed him so badly, so passionately,
wished that he'd always be close to me, live every moment
of my life with me, kiss me goodnight, set my body on fire,
love me wild and passionately with all of his body, wake up
next morning, have breakfast with me...
God, he is the only thing I wished for.
I feel the tears welling up behind my eyes just as his voice
wakes me from my musings.
"Hey, Scully?"
I quickly wipe my eyes and turn around in my office chair.
Trying to look casual, I ask: "What's up, fella?"
He gives me a sheepish smile. "Got any plans for the weekend?"
I smile back, delighted by his clumsy manner that makes him
seem so boyish. "What did you have in mind?"
xxx
I am standing before Mulder's apartment door, a bag filled
with chocolate and other threats to human teeth in my left
hand, a six-pack in the right and a small backpack over my
left shoulder. After the fourth knock I drop the six-pack to
search around in my pocket for my keys, wondering what keeps
him form answering the door since he knew I was coming.
Then finally the door opens and he's standing right in front
of me, wearing that boyish grin again.
"I'm sorry, I was in the bathroom."
I can't prevent a smile of my own and his grin becomes even
wider before he grabs the utensils and closes the door after
I walked past him inside. I turn around to watch him examine
the sweets.
He's wearing a gray T-shirt that fits really tight around his
chest and a pair of blue 501 jeans. All that to *bare* feet.
Oh god, the let me fuck your brains out outfit.
"Hey, Scully, great choice!" he shouts, taking out some of
the chocolate bars I bought for us. "That stuff is deadly."
I force myself to smile and stop regarding his muscled frame
as I answer: "And what did you get for movies?"
He quickly walks past me and throws the food onto the couch
then takes a stack of videos from the coffee table, holding
them up.
"I got *Nightmare On Elm Street* parts one to seven, Chuckie
parts one to four..." he grins his wide grin again when he
sees me roll my eyes. "All the best for my Scully."
I try not to twitch at the words --*my Scully*--, knowing
they are meaningless.
"So", I say, letting myself fall onto the couch and dropping
the backpack to one side, "what are we waiting for? IŽd say
we should start with *Chuckie*. What are you waiting for?"
I ask, enjoying his surprised look.
"Okay", he finally mumbles, inserting the tape into the VCR
then sitting down next to me. Close to me, my mind registers.
As the movie starts, I can feel the warmth of his body next to
mine as he makes himself comfortable, draping an arm behind me
on the edge of the couch. I lean my head onto the tight muscles
and close my eyes lazily, evolving a chuckle from him.
He takes two beer cans from the pack and handles me one.
We click our cans and I take a sip, making a grimace at the
bitterness of the stuff. It's been a long time since the last
time I've had a beer, I realize. It's certainly been not half
that long for Mulder for as I can tell not twenty minutes
later he takes another can from the pack and opens it with a
*pffft*.
"Cheers, Scully", he says with a chuckle at my disgusted
face then lifts the can to his mouth.
Oh boy, this is gonna be a night.
xxx
About... five or six hours later, we are half- sitting,
half- lying on the couch with our feet on the coffee table,
chocolate paper all sprawled around us, I am resting with my
head on Mulder's shoulder. Through my drunken dizziness I
realize what a good feeling it is. I curl my fingers around one
of his strong forearms and take in his scent, closing my eyes
in satisfaction.
Mulder has just finished the last can of the second six-pack
he'd bought... I don't remember when. Must have been some time
between *Chuckie 3* and *Pet Cemetery*. He lets out a real
bad curse and I giggle and shove my elbow into his side. He
moans and I giggle even more until he rests his head on mine.
I automatically lift my hand to stroke the back of his head,
amazed at the softness of the dark strands of hair there.
"Aaw, Scully, my stomach hurts", he mumbles.
"I know, Mulder. Mine does, too. All the sweets combined with
the beer were too much. You can call yourself lucky if you won't
be hanging all day over your toilet puking tomorrow."
"Thanks, Scully."
"Welcome."
We keep sitting wordless like that for a while watching the
finale of *Nightmare On Elm Street* part... whatever until
I let out a long yawn.
Mulder looks up at me. "You tired, Scully?"
"Not at all."
He laughs softly at my irony then lifts himself from my
shoulder and gets up, grabbing something from under the sofa.
"What are you doing?" I want to know, startled by his
sudden actions.
He holds out a wool blanket to me. "I'm gonna put you to
sleep now. Come on, lay down."
"Oh come on, you must be kidding", I start to protest but
then do as he said. He lays the blanket over me, takes some
chocolate paper away and then looks at me, satisfied with
his work.
"Good. Now close your eyes and sleep."
I start one last protest, "Where are *you* going to sleep,
Mulder?" I mumble, try to sound insistent but most likely
fail as I am dizzy from all the beer and my head is already
spinning.
"I'm gonna see", he says as he switches off the TV and VCR
and brings the empty cans to the kitchen. Then he returns
and lowers his head to mine, placing a soft kiss with his
tender lips on my cheek.
My god, those lips. Please, Mulder, give me more of that.
"Now sleep tight", he whispers with a stroke of his fingers
through my hair.
"Ummm", I sigh, rolling myself to the other side, hearing
his footsteps disappear. Where? Maybe to the bathroom?
I don't know, and I'm not asking. This was a good idea of
Mulder's. Better than his questions, and much better than
his concern. Tonight I don't feel reduced to my illness,
don't feel like I'm nothing more than a dying woman who
will have to face the cruelest terrors before her death.
Tonight I feel like a really normal, usual woman. I feel
much easier, much more attractive when he's that... tender
to me without even a slight hint of worry in his eyes.
I even feel desired, though there is no real reason to;
just his touches and caresses are enough for me right now.
Tonight, after a long time, I can finally lay down without
worrying if I'll ever wake up, without wondering if I will
be able to steal a tender glance, a soft touch, an encouraging
smile from him tomorrow. I can simply lay my head down onto
this old worn out couch without any other thoughts, knowing
I won't have to fight any nightmares. This is how it always
should be, I think before my mind drifts off to sleep.
For once...
I am happy.
xxx