Here Begins
by TLynn

E-Mail: tlynnfic@gmail.com
Feedback: Yes, please
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know so I can visit
Rating: R
Category: MSR, angst
Spoilers: post-IWTB
Summary: 'You can't remember a time before him, before 
his scent in your nose, his breath in your ear, and 
your heart in his hand; you don't want to.'
 
Disclaimer: Not mine, never have been, never will be.

Thanks: to Carol for the beta and Circe for giving my
fic a home at http//:tlynn.invidiosa.com

Note: This is a companion piece, of sorts, to 'Out of 
Practice' in that it takes place the morning after. 
You don't have to have read that in order to read this, 
but I hope you do all the same. It can be found at:

http://tlynn.invidiosa.com/practice.html
and/or
http://tlynnfic.livejournal.com/760.html


* * *

'In that book which is
My memory...
On the first page
That is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words...
Here begins a new life.'

-- La Vita Nuova by Dante Alighieri

* * *

You wake early, before the alarm clock goes off, and look 
out the window to the pre-dawn light bathing the winter 
landscape in a crisp grey hue. Lying next to you, Mulder 
sleeps soundly, both of your bodies deep under the covers 
in a warm cocoon of cotton and down. You turn to face him, 
to watch him for a moment before you have to get up and 
head to the hospital. 

Conflict over the past six years was minimal, the chance 
to live a life together almost nearly out of danger had 
been enough to assuage any anger at one another for the 
little irritations of living with another human being. To 
look at him now, to again see the cuts and bruises that 
mar his face, you don't regret your anger, yet can't 
assuage your guilt at bringing that danger to him, however 
indirectly. The door had been opened again and shutting it 
was no longer an option; the life you simultaneously regret 
the loss of and never want to return to was crashing 
through. 

You turn away from him again and savor the quiet of the 
morning, the peace, memorizing the detail and calm. Mere 
minutes pass before you feel him stirring behind you, 
shifting until he's spooned up against you, his hand 
gravitating to the swell of your hip. You feel the charge 
of his want and need immediately, feel his need to reconnect 
to you, to each other. His breath is warm and heavy against 
the nape of your neck. His fingers are needy and insistent 
and his fingernails press into your flesh; you can already 
feel the crescent-shaped indents that will be left behind. 
You could say no if you wanted, could retreat from his 
advances, but you don't, can't, wouldn't. 

You shift your body back, press against him, and 
feel the heavy length of his arousal settle against your 
bottom. The warm, familiar, overwhelming desire you have 
for him quickly settles in your groin and you are amazed 
the effect he has on you is still so strong. He slides one 
hand around you to clasp over your left breast, kneading it 
forcefully over the thin cotton of your camisole, and you 
feel your heart pound against your chest. His teeth and 
tongue take turns biting and licking at the flesh of your 
neck. You know he'll leave a mark if you don't stop him 
now, so you move away just enough to turn on your back, to 
wrap your arms around him and pull him on top of you. The 
uncertainty that has plagued you these past days fades with 
the security of his weight atop you and you welcome it, 
don't ever want him to move. But move he does, deft hands 
pushing and pulling clothing and blankets aside, revealing 
you to each other in the ever-growing morning light. 

Your breath is labored as he braces himself above you and his 
head falls to your breast, his tongue gentle now where his 
grip had just minutes before been rough. Your fingers slide 
through his hair and you hold him against you as you arch 
your back, demanding without words that he never, ever 
stop. You don't realize he's moved a hand until his fingers 
are inside you, wrenching your head from the pillow and 
forcing a gasp from your lips. He catches your surprised 
eyes with his, and watches as your eyelids flutter with 
each flick of his wrist, with each pass of this thumb over 
your most sensitive spot. He knows your body, knows it 
well, learned quickly what you respond to, what makes you 
quiver, what makes you scream; the years have only allowed 
him to refine his skills. You feel yourself ready to fall 
over the edge when he withdraws his hand and captures your 
open, panting mouth in an almost violent kiss. Your hands 
fist in his hair, pulling it, returning his ardor with 
equal force. 

The sudden desperation is palpable and your pulse increases 
not from the passion, but the anxiety in the air. You grab 
at his shoulder, his back, handfuls of flesh, pulling him into 
you, within you. He whimpers into your mouth as he enters you, 
and you feel his body begin to tremble with the sheer force 
of his actions, his body taut not with excitement and arousal, 
but with unease and distress. You will yourself into calm, 
uneven though it is, and place your hands on his cheeks. He 
breaks his hold on your bottom lip and lifts his head, meeting 
your eyes, as his hips and his claiming of your body slow. You 
see fear and trust and exhaustion and devotion and doubt and 
love. It strikes you that you are here with him again, that 
after the security you've shared, in each other if not in 
circumstance, there is still any room for doubt. You hold 
his gaze and move your hips against him, slowly, but 
deliberately, establishing a new pace. He takes your cue, 
each thrust into you long and slow, and you can feel the 
tension begin to melt from his body. You press your mouth 
against his again and tell him with your tongue and your 
lips and your soul that he need not ever worry; all the 
forces of the universe combined could never, will never, 
tear you away from him. His eyes slip shut as he pulls away 
and rests his forehead against yours, as you lift your legs 
and pull your knees up to frame his torso. The room, the 
world, the only world you care about at the moment, fills 
with the sound of his labored breaths and your own groans 
as he loses himself deeper and deeper inside of you. 

But as the pleasure builds you can feel something inside of 
you begin to break, a crack in the foundation. This life 
with him isn't perfect, isn't normal, no matter how hard 
you've both tried to make it so, not with the shadows of 
the past before you and the weight of knowledge about the 
future ahead of you. And though it's the life you chose and 
would choose time and time again, though you pride yourself 
on your strength, on your resolve to live it to the best of 
your ability, sometimes it's too hard to ignore the 
exhausting uncertainty. Your defenses down, open completely 
to all he has to give you, you are flooded with emotion as 
you reach your climax and your body throbs with intense 
pleasure as memories of the past years mingle with the past 
days: abductions and cancer, conspiracies and distrust, 
death and resurrection; feeling your child move within you, 
watching your belly grow, giving birth, giving him up; the 
new fight for a child's life, for the right to keep 
fighting; the panic and fear when you couldn't find him, 
when this wasn't supposed to happen anymore. You feel 
exposed, raw, unable to push down all that you can't and 
don't want to think about anymore, and you feel the promise 
of tears sting at your eyes. His movements above you are 
sloppy and hurried as he seeks his own release and finally 
he finds it, his face contorting, his lean, sweaty body 
collapsing next to you. 

Your tears are hot against the skin of your temples, sliding 
down to mingle with the sheen of sweat that has formed along 
your hairline, and you wipe them away quickly before he 
notices. You don't want your sudden rise in emotion to be 
misunderstood, don't have the words right now to explain it 
to him should he see it on your face. 

So you turn into him, wrap your arms around him and hide your 
face in his neck. You can't remember a time before him, before 
his scent in your nose, his breath in your ear, and your heart 
in his hand; you don't want to. His arm comes up and rests 
loosely around your waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on 
your skin as his body recovers. The shadows move slowly down 
the length of the wall as the sun finally rises, bathing the 
room in light, but little warmth. You shiver and pull the 
covers up over you both, settling even further against him. 

"Hey," he says softly.

It takes a minute before you look up at him, but you do.

"Hey," you say.

He almost looks like he did when you first knew him, the 
renewed energy for the work giving him a familiar spark and 
youthfulness that delights you despite yourself. And 
morning stubble as opposed to a full beard, a change you 
once again approve of with a small caress of his cheek.

"Stay home today, Scully," he says.

"I can't," you say. "I need to check on Christian."

He nods his understanding.

"I wish I could, though," you tell him. 

And you do, more than anything. You want to steal away any 
moments like this that you can, make them last, just in 
case the opportunities for them start to run dry. You think 
maybe he feels the same.

"Can you go in late?" he asks, moving his head closer.

You shake your head 'no'.

"Come home early?" he asks into your neck, breathing warm 
puffs of air onto your skin. You shiver, not from the cold
this time.

"I'll try," you promise, lifting your hand to his head as 
he places the softest of kisses along the line of your
collarbone. 

"Deal," he says, lifting his head to flash you a smile.

You kiss him one last time before getting up and out of the 
bed. You shower and dress, smell coffee and breakfast 
wafting from the kitchen downstairs as you pull your hair 
back into a ponytail. You look at yourself in the mirror 
and you wonder when this life together, no longer new, will 
end and what life together awaits you.

"You're going to be late!" he shouts.

"I'll be right down!" you shout back.

You smile. Here begins another new life.

* * *
end