Come Inside by Char Chaffin MSR, PG-13 Spoilers: "XF2: I Want to Believe" Dedication: For Rae-Baby, on her birthday! And for Nancy, because she went looking for it - Inspiration for this story: a photo in People Magazine. I'm sure everyone knows which photo I refer to! Disclaimer: Clones on Loan ~~~ She pulls on her boots, sitting there on the edge of the bed. It seems she's always dressing to leave. No, that's not fair. That's not really true. She doesn't always leave. It's just that he never wants her apart from him, and so he tends to see the glass half-empty instead of half-full. Actually, the glass, more often than not, is half-empty. In his opinion, of course. ~~~~ They argue. They bicker. They disagree. They shout and they swear at each other. Then they meet in the middle of the room, the road, the path, and link hands, look into each others' eyes, and silently re-affirm what has always been their own particular truth: stronger together. Weaker, apart. Powerful when connected, whether mentally or physically. Hand to hand. Body to body and mouth to mouth. Doesn't matter. They're stronger. ~~~~ He wants to pursue this latest trouble, and she doesn't. In itself their individual attitudes are nothing new. He's ready to jump, leap into the new fray, solve it all and find yet another truth. She holds back. Trouble coming, she tells him. Hiding in plain sight is one thing, but inviting exposure is the harshest kind of frostbite. It's not smart, it's not best for them. She's tired of doing it, she tells him. She just wants to live in as much peace as they can manage. He's not really listening. She finds herself resigned enough to accept that he's not. ~~~~ They were living apart for a while but it was killing both of them. He'd gotten what she not-so-affectionately calls 'a wild hair,' and he'd wanted to take off, investigate it. Of course, his characteristic exuberance had irritated her enough that she told him she needed a break. She said it on impulse but found herself actually following through when it became clear she truly DID need a break. She left early on a Monday morning; left him in the bed they shared with one bare arm flung over his eyes, refusing to watch her walk out the door wearing her coat. She'd pulled on her boots that morning, too... but she'd made a little detour closer to the bed and had reached out to slip careful fingers over his hair as he lay there and stubbornly wouldn't look up. "I'm coming back. You know I will. Get this out of your system, Mulder. Follow up on whatever you think you need to, and I'll be back in a few weeks. I have to get away. I know you don't understand. Sometimes I don't, either." He'd finally raised his arm enough to peer up at her. She refused to acknowledge the damp at the corner of one eye; his voice was rusty when he stated, "You'll be gone more than a few weeks. Call it a premonition. You'll be gone long enough for me to worry that you won't come back." He sat up suddenly and snagged her, coat and all; wrapped her in both arms and pressed her tightly to his nude body, the sheets now pooled at his thighs and her feet dangling off the side of the mattress. She'd wound her fingers through his hair and had moaned when his mouth crushed to hers, when his hands worked their way under her coat and cupped her breasts. The kiss went on, and on... but he eventually let her go and she walked away. And was gone three months. ~~~~ She came back on a dreary, rainy day, shaking the wet from her hair, her coat. She was drenched, cold, achy and had a fever. The key she'd kept pinned to the inside of her pocket still worked and she'd let herself into the house, had walked right to the bathroom and had shed every damp layer. She'd taken a blisteringly hot shower, then had snuggled into the old terrycloth robe he left hanging on the door. It smelled like Mulder. She'd crawled into bed wearing the robe, had drawn the covers over her head and had slept for eleven hours. When she awoke, he was sitting on the side of the bed in roughly the same position she'd been in, the day she'd walked away... and when she started to cry and reached out both hands to grasp at him, Mulder had come down to her, had come down on her, his outer clothes pressed to the robe she still wore. They kissed as if they'd never been apart; as if they'd never said anything but hello and good morning to each other. They'd made love the same way, too, with an edge of desperation laced with tenderness that had earmarked most of their sexual encounters, from Day One. She whispered she was sorry, that she'd been gone far longer than she'd promised, and that she'd never leave him again. He whispered back that it was all right, that he loved her, needed her, wanted her, would always be there for her. She never asked him what he'd found. He never asked her where she'd been. And both of them pretended their unanswered questions didn't matter. ~~~~ Now she opens the front door and walks down the steps, away from the old house that has been haven as well as refuge. It has always bothered her that the lease is in just Mulder's name, although to be fair he'd found the place by himself and had put up all the deposits and had paid the utilities. She tells herself it's different than her old feelings concerning the desk in the basement that wasn't hers. She tells herself it's not the same at all. That was so many years ago; that was foolish. It's not the same. She just doesn't want to go back into the unknown again. She has a right to not want it in her life, their lives. They've been doing well, haven't they? They've been happy - well, as happy as it's possible to be, considering there are pieces of their families missing from them - and they have been content. The love has been stronger than ever, their need for each other undiminished, powerful. In her pocket is the front door key, pinned to the lining. She's tossed a bag into the front seat of the car. It's not like she's leaving him stranded; he's got the truck. It's not like she didn't warn him this would happen, if he jumped back into it again. ~~~~ She told him. "Not again. Please, Mulder... if you do this, if you insist, you'll be doing it without me." She'd stared up at him, wondering if she was even getting through to him. She whispered, "I'm so tired, Mulder. I just want some peace in my life. Just some peace." He'd moved closer to her, had slid his hands down her arms and had clasped her fingers. His face was somber, his eyes so earnest. "There's no peace for us, not now, maybe not ever. Scully, we left peace outside the door the first time we walked through it and into our first case together. Peace isn't something the likes of us can hope for." He'd drawn her to him and had pressed his mouth against her hair, and his words had ruffled the silky strands. "We fight the battles and we don't always win. We search for some kind of solution, some sort of resolution in a world where resolution and solution is a fleeting thing. We throw ourselves against the walls and sometimes we pass through them, and other times we just end up bloody and bruised." His hand slipped under her chin and he'd raised her eyes to his. "Together, Scully. Always. Don't leave me. Don't make me throw myself at the wall, alone." "I can't. Don't ask me to, Mulder. I'm still healing from the last time." She'd eased gently from his embrace and had walked to the door, had forced herself not to look back. ~~~~ He follows her from the house, walks out the door just as she's tossing her case in the front seat. Resigned to fighting it out again, it would appear in public view this time, she steels herself for another emotional tug of war. But he stops in front of her, simply stops and stares down at her, silently. There's a world of sad knowledge in his eyes, that they've been right here in the past so many times and always it's been his doing. His fight, her reluctance and then acceptance mixed with her desire to stand beside him and walk into that wall with him. Sometimes the wall wasn't hers to walk into but she did it anyway. And often the wall belonged to her, and he fought for the right to bash himself against it, all in her name, her cause. Has she forgotten all of those times? No, she hasn't. They're burned into her memory the same as the first time he touched her, held her, made her so much more than his. Fifteen years, and he's still able to hold her in place with those glittering hazel eyes. They hold her now, as they forever will. And she is undecided as to the strength she has, against their pull. When he speaks her name, his voice pulls at her, too. "Scully. Please." If he puts his hands on her, she knows she'll be lost. It's hard enough, fighting against the emotion she can see on his face and hear in his voice. She doesn't want to leave him. She never wants to, but sometimes for her own sanity she needs to. She doesn't speak aloud, but her thoughts are not silent. His hand reaches for her, cups her head, pulls her close. His arms come around her and he holds her, just holds her. Closer. Warmer. Without demand. Deep and still, silent and needful. She can feel the steady beat of his heart, she can feel the heat of his skin through the thin pullover he wears. She can feel him, strong and yet a supplicant, standing before her. She can smell his skin; that clean and good smell that comes from cotton hung out in the breeze to dry, touches of soap and the lingering traces of after-shave... Mulder. Just Mulder, the one man who gets to her, over and over. Who loves her madly, sanely, completely. When she looks up through her lashes at him, the expression on his face almost does her in. How can she remain focused and on her chosen track when his face is beyond tender, when his parted lips form a murmur that strikes right into her soul; when everything about him beckons to her, as potently as ever? "Scully. Come back into the house with me. Come back in. Please." It's the look that makes her choose. It's the hands on her face, in her hair, that gives her pause. It's the body, pressed to hers, that calls more forcefully than a lengthy discussion of persuasion. It's the lips opening against hers, desire and love in every stroke of tongue on tongue, that tell her what she realizes she needs to hear. It's the man in her arms who needs her, who adores her, who fights by her side... simply that and really nothing else. She manages a tiny smile. Her eyes warm up as they gaze into his. Her fingers twine with his. She doesn't feel the cold wind as they stand together, ready to step up and face another wall. "Come inside, Scully." She does. End End note: Of course, the scene preceding and following that amazing photo could go either way. Maybe she's leaving for good and maybe she's just going to work. Maybe she'll get into the car anyway and drive off... and maybe she'll hold his hand as they walk back into the house, through the door and all the way into the bedroom, where the scene may or may not fade to black. Twenty people will look at the photo and twenty people will make different conclusions. It just adds to the suspense, the watchful waiting. And the excitement! Rae, hope you have fun in LA for the premiere! Happiest of birthdays! Thanks for reading! Come and chat with me, anytime: char@chaffin.com My website: http://char.chaffin.com