Seconds Etched On My Skin (1/1) by CazQ ( CazQ@tesco.net ) CATEGORY: V, A, MSR RATED: PG SPOILERS: Nope, although this could be set sometime mid-season 6, I guess. SUMMARY: Sometimes you feel the weight of every second... ARCHIVE: Sure, just ask first (like I'd really say no...?) DISCLAIMER: OK, repeat after me...they're not mine, never were or will be. Mulder, Scully and everyone/thing else connected with the X Files belongs to 10-13, 20th Century Fox, and of course The Boss, Chris Carter and all his partners in crime. Hey, I'd let them have a lot more fun. No copyright infringement or insult intended. No money will be made out of this and I have none so suing me would do no one but the lawyers any good. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another "beat that writer's block" exercise...one that actually worked this time! This is really more of a mood piece than a proper "story", I think. Feedback will be worshipped in the e-mail shrine at CazQ@tesco.net Big thanks to jerry for another speedy-yet-excellent beta :). Dedicated to Kristy in honour of all those beta hours she put in that week. Any remaining formatting errors are entirely the fault of Outlook Express, the Devil's work . ----------------------------------------------------------- Seconds Etched On My Skin (1/1) by CazQ There are seconds I remember, Scully. Seconds I'll remember always. The look on your face when I whispered "I love you", there in the dark hallway of my apartment building. The way your whole body seemed to freeze for a second and then melt into movement, sunlight pouring through melting ice after a hard winter. To me, you had always been a shooting star, a shining satellite soaring above the earth. Then, just for a moment, you were within my grasp...but oh, Scully, the way you suddenly pulled away, one hand over your mouth... ...like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar, eyes wide and terrified. The way you turned on your heel and left, walking away from me and out into the cold rain battering the city, rising again, climbing away from me, out of the warm oceans of air and into the hard, cold emptiness of space. They say that an orbit is just a fall that keeps missing the earth. For a second, Scully, you fell towards me, but then you gained the upper hand over the inevitability of gravity again and returned to your orbit. You were the only person I ever knew who could pull off that trick. I know what you were afraid of, Scully. You were afraid of completing the fall and never being able to rise up and away again, of the liabilities and pain of becoming earthbound. You were terrified of the heat, the fiery baptism, of passing downwards into air and life, even as you yearned for it. You were convinced that I would chain you down to the ground and keep you there always, even if gravity ended up crushing you after so long without weight, without mass, without the harsh, wonderful reality of physicality. You wanted to stay at your safe distance, millions of miles out, looking down at the glow of life and passion and rage and grief, without ever having to get too close. You wanted to be the moth that circles the flame without getting burnt, the scientist peering down the microscope, observing, cataloguing, dispassionate and untouchable. Yet, in the end, the act of observation may change the watcher as well as the watched. And so on that day that I reached up, leaping up towards the sky, surprising you, and snared you for a moment with a word and a kiss, you knew what you had to do. As I watched you walk out of my building and stumble down the street, blinded by the water running down your face, I wondered if it was just rain, or if there were tears mixed in. I wondered if you felt the wrench of your leaving as strongly as I did, if it felt to you like the severing of a vital link, the removal of air and light and life. I wanted to follow you, Scully, so much...I wanted to run after you, out into the street, to call out your name and see if you would turn around. I wanted desperately to have the magic words, to know the secret code that would make you look over your shoulder and see what you were leaving. So I did follow you. Even though I knew I didn't have the words that could make you stay, I ran out into the rain and yelled your name. The first time you didn't hear: my voice caught in my throat, traitorously, refusing to summon you back. I tried again, and for a second, you stopped walking, and just stood. You just stood there on the sidewalk, head bowed, drenched. So much rain...so much rain I thought we would drown just breathing in. And then you looked back...you looked round and I could see your mouth working as you tried to speak, but nothing, nothing came out...and I think I heard you sob. For a second your eyes locked onto mine and my heart stood still in my chest, a second of pain that lasted for aeons, because then I understood. Then you turned your back on me and ran, wet hair flying every which way, splashing through puddles, making tiny crystalline scatters of water and light every time your feet touched the ground. You ran and ran and then you turned the corner and ran out of my life. And then it was my turn to fall, to sink down to the ground and cry, right out there in the street for anyone to see, fracturing as I hit the ground into a million raindrops, every one a perfect little world of water and light and agony. ------------------------------------------------------------------- It's been ten months, six days and five hours since that moment, Scully. That's...26, 456, 400 seconds of hell, and I remember living through every damn one of them. And yet, if you do walk up the street and come towards me today, if you do stretch out your hand, if you do say my name in that weary-angel voice...I'll forgive you for every single one. I'd forgive you in a heartbeat. I don't know what you've been doing since that day. You cut me out of your life with surgical precision, and I purposely closed my ears to the news filtering back to me occasionally through the Bureau's gossips. I told myself I was respecting your choice, trying to help myself grow used to living with it. I know where you've been, though: Seattle. About as far as you could get from me without falling into the ocean. It rains all the time there, or so I've always thought -- I don't know how you could stand to ever see the rain again, Scully. I'd have gone to the desert, somewhere where it hasn't rained in a hundred years. You always were stronger than me, though, at least when it came to denial. I don't know what you want from me now, and I haven't asked. When I got your letter...that was enough to undo me all over again. I should have said no. I should have told you not to come, that it'd be better for us not to see each other. I'm only human, though, Scully, and I always would come running when you called. So here I am, trenchcoat wrapped round me to keep the wind's teeth from sinking into me, praying for the skies to stay clear. I don't know why it had to be here, Scully. The Wall's glossy black is rimed with frost, blurring the crisp outlines of the thousands of names. I try to keep myself occupied by reading through the roll-call of the dead, leaning down to trace the cold letters with a fingertip. "Mulder." And then you're there. Surprise attack, coming up on me while my back was turned and I had no time to prepare, to armour myself. I straighten up, but I can't look at you. "Mulder, please turn around." God, Scully, how do you do that? How do you keep your voice so damned steady, so calm? How do you stay in one piece? "Please, Mulder." Oh Jesus...you, here, using that voice...I can't deny you anything. My body knows the voice of its mistress. You're still so beautiful. Thinner, tauter, a little more lined...all edge and brilliance, like a roughcut diamond. I wonder what you're seeing in my face right now. I know how I look: tired, brittle. Can you see, them, Scully? All those seconds, etched into my skin? "Scully..." "Will you...". You stop and look away for a second, blinking hard and inhaling. "Will you walk with me a little, Mulder?" So we begin to walk, in silence. God, our strides fall right back into a perfect rhythm after three steps. And after a while we talk a little, faltering, each unsure of the ground. You've been making a name for yourself in the Seattle field office, it seems, setting up a new Criminal Pathology department. You don't ask what I've been doing. I guess you must have heard through the Bureau grapevine about old Spooky losing it, being transferred off the X-files, onto desk duty in VCS. At least one of us has been doing well. You talk, and I listen, trying to hear what you're not saying, trying to hear the messages floating in the gaps between your words. Eventually you stop walking and turn to face me. "Mulder, aren't you going to say anything? Do you...do you hate me? I understand if you do...but I hoped you would know why I...why I left. Maybe I shouldn't have come..." You're staring up at me, your eyes flicking nervously back and forth across my face, and I think I know what it was you weren't saying...but I need to be sure, because I can't do this again... "Do you like it, Scully? Seattle?" Your eyes widen a little at that, and then just a shadow of a smile, flitting across your features. "I hate it, Mulder. It rains all the damn time." Then you reach up tentatively and run a finger along the line of my jaw, as if you'd like to do more but don't dare. "I was hoping maybe I could come home, Mulder. Get out of the rain for a while," you whisper before releasing me. I stare down at you and blink back the tears filling up my eyes. Maybe you'll think it's just the bitter wind making my eyes tear up. Maybe little grey men will get their own primetime talk show. I stare and stare, drinking in your face. "They, uh..." Dammit. I clear my throat and try again. "They say you can never go home again, Scully. You know, you can't cross the same river twice and all that?" "I don't want to cross the same river, Mulder," you whisper, refusing to look away. "I want to build a bridge over another river, one I should have crossed long ago." "Why didn't you?" At that you do look away for a second, gazing back at the Wall with its surrounding spread of crisp dry leaves. "I...maybe I thought I wouldn't be strong enough to make it across, that I would be swept away." "And now?" "Maybe I'm ready to be swept away." You turn back to me, one lonely tear escaping, caressing the curve of your cheek and running into the corner of your mouth. "I couldn't, Mulder, I couldn't do it. I thought I could, but I was wrong. It's lonely in Seattle when it rains, you know?" I nod, slowly, and then pull you into my arms, crushing you to me. You let yourself be gathered in, small, cold hands going to grasp the front of my coat, making sure you are anchored securely to the ground. You came back down, Scully. You descended, my falling angel, of your own accord...the only way you could come back and be sure of your ability to stay. "I think...I think it's time you came home, Scully." "Okay," you whisper, before releasing your hold on my coat and pulling away from me a little. You aren't sure enough of the territory down here to let go entirely, though: one slender hand slips into mine, fingers curling round to grip firmly. It'll take time, Scully, I think, as we walk slowly away, leaving the wall of the dead behind us. It'll take a long time: winter's just beginning, and the hard road is not travelled yet. But we'll heal -- the tiny cuts all over my skin, carved there by seconds without you, will fade with time into ghosts of scars, and be lost to the eye. You're not there yet, but you're on your way, Scully. You're coming down, and I'm here to catch you. I won't ever let you hit the ground. FINIS Feedback/queries/general chit-chat/nekkid Mulder and Krycek clones to CazQ@tesco.net :) Subject: REP: Seconds Etched On My Skin (1/1) V, A, MSR by CazQ Path: lobby!newstf02.news.aol.com!portc02.blue.aol.com!bignews.mediaways.net!news-fra1.dfn.de!news0.de.colt.net!colt.net!newspeer.clara.net!news.clara.net!btnet-peer!btnet!neptunium.btinternet.com!not-for-mail From: "Caz Q" Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Date: Tue, 27 Apr 1999 20:37:17 +0100 Organization: Tesco ISP Lines: 286 Message-ID: <7g5467$1k5$3@epos.tesco.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: 212.140.71.85 X-Newsreader: Microsoft Outlook Express 4.72.3110.5 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V4.72.3110.3