Title: Withdrawal of Life

Author: Philiater

Feedback: philiater1@[nospam]yahoo.com   (Obviously,

leave the [nospam] part out.)

Category: Vignette, tinge of PWP.  Scully/Skinner.  And

sex. MSR angst.

Rating: NC-17 

Spoilers: Everything. Big ones for Biogenesis and

Roadrunners. Happens early in season 8. There's no

pregnancy in this world either.

withdrawal (with-draw'al) 

1. The act of removal or retreating. 2. A pattern of

behavior observed in schizophrenia and depression,

characterized by a pathological retreat from interpersonal

contact and social involvement and leading to self-

preoccupation. (Stedman's Medical Dictionary)

I hereby bestow a night of bliss with SPG for one of the

hardest working betas out there-The one and only Keleka. 

Yea!

Withdrawal of Life

by Philiater

I've lost my mind.   I know that's what they're thinking. 

I finally snapped from this latest violation of my psyche.

A part of me wishes they'd all go screw themselves.

A part of me knows they could be right.

I don't want to be sweet, or gentle or thoughtful.  I not

predisposed to logical thinking or long diatribes on the

scientific importance of what occurred.  I'm pissed.  I'm

so angry that I want to hurt someone. And this time I don't

want that someone to be me.

But of course it will be me that gets hurt.  I'm the one

who will suffer the pitying looks of those who know me, and

hate them and myself in the process. I'm the one who will

have to walk down the halls as if getting infested with a

killer slug is an everyday occurrence.  No big deal.

Happens all the time.

So I leave.  I got up in the middle of my meeting with

Skinner and Doggett and just walked out the door.  Doggett

followed of course, running next to me like a puppy and

asking what's wrong. So I lie.

I tell him I forgot something at home. Something important

to our meeting and to stall until I can get back. I lie

with a smoothness I never knew I had.  He hesitates for

only a moment, but smiles and swallows the bull I feed him.

I should feel badly, but I don't.

I do go home and pack a few things.  I go to the bank and

withdraw an unseemly large amount of cash.  The bank teller

asks if I'm running away from home.  This makes me laugh

out loud.  Yes, I say. I'm running away from home.

When I shut the car door it sounds like a door slamming

closed down the long corridor of my life.  What did that

idiot Julie Andrews say in 'The Sound of Music'?  When God

closes a door he always opens a window.

I decide to drive through the door instead.

********************

I end up halfway across the country with no destination in

mind.  Somewhere in Georgia I ditch my bureau car in case

they've put out an all points on me.  I buy a car from a

guy who wears a clip-on tie and smiles far too much.  I

decide to haggle a little longer over the price when he

calls me 'honey,' and 'little miss.' It's a private

transaction conducted with one of Mulder's shadier contacts

that I know.  Neither one of us wants any contact with

'authorities.'

I finally pay far too much for the Mustang, and drive off

headed west.  I've been to New Mexico.  Maybe I'll stay in

a remote area in the mountains until I can get a grip on

myself.  I just need some time alone.  Time away from my

new partner, the FBI, and the monsters that populate it.

I settle for Santa Fe and rent a house just ten minutes

away.  It has everything I want including the isolation. My

nearest neighbor is a family of survivalists who wants even

less to do with me than I do with them. 

And I get away with it. For a while.

**********************************

I should have known he'd show up and spoil the party. Does

this man live to make me answer for myself?

Skinner.  My tough-assed, nail chewing, ten-foot-tall

hulking boss shows up.  And he's pissed.  Really pissed. 

When I open the door without checking first, I actually

tried to slam it in his face. I couldn't believe it. I just

could *not* believe he would track me down this fast. It

has to be a new record. 

Six days.  I only got away for six DAYS.

He bars the door with one arm, pushing me back inside.  He

has the classic 'you are in big trouble and are going to

explain this to me in great detail' look on his face.  It's

mixed with the 'I think I may need to kill you first,

though' look.

I remember sitting across from him the first time Mulder

and I had to explain why a case went badly because the

people involved just wouldn't play by the rules and die the

way they were supposed to.  He listened as Mulder spooled

out his theories on abduction, aliens, and secret

government cover-ups with the strangest expression on his

face. It was stony-cold and hard as flint.  But his eyes;

his eyes were another matter all together.

He stared at us with wide-eyed disbelief.  The proverbial

'deer in the headlights look' with something a little extra

added.  It took three meetings for me to get it.  The deer

was certainly surprised, and was going to be hit by the car

all right, but this deer was pissed off at the car.

I got none of that now; just anger.  Pure, clean, burning

anger that radiates off of him like the Napalm of his

Vietnam days. 

He thinks he's going to intimidate me, as he always tries

to do.  Sometimes I have given in and cowered against his

strength.  Other times I'm so angry I forget who he is and

the power he could wield to hurt me.

Like that time with Diana Fowley.

When Mulder was half-naked and screaming my name into the

camera of his padded room.  And that bitch had the nerve to

tell me Mulder had called HER for help. It was pathetic.

Then Skinner had the audacity to grab my arm and then lie

about the information I'd gathered on the alien artifact.

I lost it.  Just lost it.

"You're both liars." I'd stormed at them.  I jerked my arm

out of his grasp and walked away from him in righteous

indignation. And he let me go. Even if it had turned out

later that I was wrong about him, at the time I felt

powerful.

I feel like that now.  I won't cower from him this time

either.

*******************************

"You have a great deal of explaining to do."  His tone is

deadly quiet.

"Oh?" A snotty reply.  I start off already trying to push

his buttons.

He steps closer, backing me up into the living room and

closing the door behind him.

"Yes, Agent Scully.  I believe you left an important

meeting with Agent Doggett and me."

"You didn't need me there."  I turn my back on him.

He puts my arm in a hard grip and literally jerks me back.

I look at the hand that easily encircles my entire forearm.

The skin has gone white; leached of blood from the force of

the hold.  And I feel a dangerous and mindless rage surge

through me.

"Let go of me."  I say it through clenched teeth

He doesn't move at all.  I can feel him daring me to try

anything.  When I look at his face I see a stranger has

replaced my stoic boss.  This is a man who is not reserved,

or quietly threatening.  This is a man dangerously close to

blowing apart.  Everything he is thinking is written on his

face as if a page of a book has been torn out and placed

there.

His face says 'don't try anything with me.'  I'm angry

with you and you will explain it all to me. You will not

get away from me.  I deserve an explanation for this

behavior. He is wrong.

Under normal circumstances this might have worked.  I'd

see how foolish I was behaving and go back with him without

protest.  But I only get angrier and feel more unreasonable

than ever.

I decide that words are useless here.  This man only

understands power and physical force.  I pull a self

defense maneuver; moving forward and bracing my feet on the

floor.  I attempt to throw him knowing that size doesn't

always count in such things; leverage does.  If I've caught

him off guard it will work.

But he is only mildly surprised, and we wind up in a heap

on the floor.  When I struggle he moves over me, pinning me

down with his legs, and raising my arms about my head.  He

uses his weight to simply stop any attempt on my part to

move at all. His head lies just above my left shoulder and

I hear his harsh breaths close to my ear. I am covered

completely and totally immobilized.

I struggle a little just for show, but I know I'm beaten. 

I feel the defeat rise in my throat like burning bile. All

the anger and indignation disappear, and I'm left with

what's underneath: pain.

Pain for allowing myself to lose control.  Pain for making

others worry unnecessarily about me.  Pain for losing

Mulder and being unable to find him.  Pain for Skinner who

probably thought he lost me too.

Suddenly I'm crying.  "I'm sorry, so sorry."

I repeat the phrase over and over like a mantra. 

"Please take me home."

Finally he relaxes; letting the stiffness leave his body

and curl around mine.  This is a Scully he can understand. 

A Scully who is weak and too needy of him.  Skinner needs

to be the strong one; the one who can give strength instead

of receive it.  I see now that it's been his mission all

along.

His head moves down to kiss my neck.  It is not the chaste

kiss of a friend; his lips are moist and warm.  His mouth

is open and gently sucking at the skin, traveling up behind

my ear.  When he lets go of my arms, I wrap one of them

around his torso and the other urges his head closer. My

legs are already lewdly spread under him by the awkwardness

of the fall.  I know we are lined up perfectly when I feel

his erection grind into my belly. Hooking my ankles around

his waist I grind back, moaning from the heat and weight of

his body.

And this is a Skinner that I can understand.  The man

hinted at when he slept with a prostitute.  A flawed human

being instead of the perfectionist boss. A man capable of

crossing a line that is invisible but whose power can

destroy lives.

This will restore my sanity.  He will help me burn away

the layers of frustration and unearth the emotions that

have been stored away for far too long.  I can tell by his

intensity and the body he's allowed to become unhinged,

that he needs this as much as I do.  Two people caught in

the trappings of civility and proper behavior breaking

free; destroying those bonds with the force of released

desire pent up for far too long.

His face travels up to devour my mouth.  Wet, hot silk

sliding against me, my lips already bruising underneath the

onslaught. His hands move to cover my breasts, groping

without finesse.  I welcome the roughness; urge him to

remove the clothing that separates the touching of our

skin. When the offending clothing is removed from me, he

buries his face against my breasts; sucking, licking,

teasing until I think the sensation alone will make me come.

My hands, frantic with need, pull at his sweater, jerking

it up so I can run my palms along his ribs. His sharp

intake of breath signals a highly responsive state. I feel

a strange kind of empowerment in his reaction; wanting to

feel more, greedy for contact.

Somehow his glasses and sweater come off along with his

pants and underwear. My slacks and panties befall the same

fate. He stands for a moment over me breathing heavily, his

erection standing out from between his hips. We gape at one

another unashamedly, the anticipation making us ache.

And then he is covering me again, starting the foreplay

all over again to heighten our pleasure to a maddening

degree. I try to touch him everywhere; finding his skin

warm and supple.  A healing balm to my soul.

When he enters me at last I arch my back in absolute

surrender; letting the pleasure break over me like

sunlight. When he moves, it is with a solid desperation and

he pins my arms above my head again.  I give him this

control without guile; his pain feels deeper than mine. 

I feel the orgasm rising up, carrying with it all the

appalling emotions I have felt these past days; rage, fear,

loneliness, and the powerlessness that losing Mulder have

generated in me.  They have been a black cancer to my soul.

When I come, those emotions wash out of me in a screaming

tide of anguish.  Skinner feels it too and takes the ride

with me; coming with the force of a hurricane. We are both

so energized by this I believe we'll ignite and burn the

entire house down with us.

When he collapses I hold him close, feeling the hard

thumping of his heart against mine.  There are no words

left to say now, no emotion that hasn't passed between us

already.  We kiss in acknowledgement for what has occurred

and leave it at that.

I coax him back to the bedroom and have him lie beside me

to sleep.  All aggression is gone now, and I am held by him

in a gentle embrace.  Tomorrow we will return to D.C. and

the real world.  Tomorrow I will make apologies to Doggett

and face the loneliness that haunts the office. Tomorrow

Skinner will become my superior again and we'll pretend

this never happened.

"Thank you," I say before drifting off to sleep.

"Why?"

"For bringing me home."

*End.*