The Last Stand (2/?)
by 1to7fan

DATE: May 2009
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, Angst, Mythology, XF3
RATING: NC17, for graphic sexual content.
SPIOLERS: Everything is game.
DISCLAIMER: Chris, Frank, I've got only honourable intentions 
for your characters.
SUMMARY: The date is five months to End Game... and 
counting.
FEEDBACK: Would be greatly appreciated.    
xf1to7fan@yahoo.co.uk
NOTE: This story is unfinished and completely open. You have 
been warned. I have a vague idea where it's going to lead 
eventually, but there's no telling what the journey will bring.


***
PART 2
***



July 23, 2012. Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital.


"You are not going anywhere, Mulder. You're staying right 
where you are and you're gonna let *me* handle this."

"Are you mad! How do you expect me to stay out of 
something like this? Did you listen to a word I just said? They 
are * staging * mass * abductions * again! Chances are there's 
one happening even as we speak, I have to get out there and 
find out what's going on!"

"Listen to yourself, Mulder. Listen to what you're saying. 
There's an abduction in progress and you want to wilfully put 
yourself in the path of a UFO? You: an abductee." Skinner let 
that sink in for a second before continuing. "Neither you nor 
Scully are going anywhere near Skyland Mountain. Nor 
Ruskind Dam, or Lake Okobogee, Roswell, Oregon or any 
other known UFO hotspots. I already watched you disappear 
under my nose once, and that was once too many!"

The conversation had reached substantial decibels and Scully 
could hear every word Skinner was bleating down Mulder's 
ear. She had sat up in bed and was listening attentively, lips 
pursed, a frown creasing her studious brow. When Mulder 
looked as if he was about to protest, she put a hand on his 
arm, commanding attention.

"Mulder, he's right. This is exactly what we're meant to be 
trying to avoid with all our preparations. You will serve no 
good to the resistance by running the risk of getting yourself 
abducted at this point. Let Skinner handle it, please."

Mulder deflated audibly and Skinner took that as meaning 
that he had seen sense.

"I'll get a chopper down here with some equipment and I'll be 
on my way. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Walter."

"Yeah."

"Look after yourself."

***

July 24, 2012. 12:21 am. Rural Virginia.


The forensics team had come and gone and the house was an 
even bigger mess for it. On top of the upheaval Scully had 
caused earlier, there were now liberal amounts of 
Anthracene and Lycopodium powder covering the walls and 
various other surfaces. Chalk marks outlined an anamorphous 
area of the floor in front of the chair where Scully had laid 
unconscious, and little red and yellow flags were scattered 
cheerfully around the place in a mockery of the terrifying 
episode which had unfolded there. Mulder ripped the crime 
scene tape that was stretched across the front door and 
stepped inside. He contemplated his surroundings with a sick 
sense of deja vu. It had been a long time since his home, or 
Scully's, had been the stage of unutterable nightmares. A 
tremor rode up his spine at the memories triggered by the 
sight: Duane Barry, Donnie Pfaster, Phillip fucking Padgett. He 
sensed Scully moving in behind him, coming to a halt by his 
side. Looking into her face, he finally understood why she had 
been so protective of this space all these years, why she had 
been meticulous in her efforts to leave the depravities of the 
world outside that door. He recognised a glimmer of 
resignation and defeat behind her stony features, and his 
hand came up to stroke her back, offering comfort. She didn't 
look at him or return the gesture, but he knew her well 
enough not to take offence. She was gathering her tenacity in 
the wake of a psychological blow, building up her courage, 
something she had always needed solitude to accomplish.

"I'm going to take a shower," she announced, and proceeded 
up the stairs.

Mulder remained where he was, watching her disappear into 
the landing above before he sighed and closed the door 
behind him. He made a half hearted attempt to straighten 
things out in the living room, picking up a few books and 
ornaments, scooping the meds back into Scully's bag. He 
quickly decided, however, that he didn't fancy being 
surrounded by the debris of his collapsed sense of security 
either, and so headed up to their bedroom where, he hoped, 
the infectious presence of evil had not spread.

***

It was a long shower even by her standards, a cleansing ritual 
which had not been entirely effective. She felt violated, in the 
most intimate of ways. She had been assaulted physically 
more times than she cared to remember, but with one 
exception fourteen years ago, her mind had always been her 
own. She emerged from the confines of her solitude without 
a real sense of achievement, clad in her bathrobe, hairbrush 
in hand. 

Mulder was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, hands behind 
his head. He had opened a window and had stripped down to 
his boxers, hoping the night air would bring his skin a reprieve 
from the stuffy atmosphere inside the house. He abandoned 
his scrutiny of the ceiling and focused instead on Scully as she 
moved around the bed and sat on the edge at the other side, 
her back to him. Her damp hair looked impossibly long, 
reaching almost to the small of her back, and as she began to 
brush it he moved close behind and gently took the brush 
from her hand. She didn't protest, allowing him the contact 
she knew he had been craving since she had woken up, the 
contact she now needed just as desperately. He got to work 
slowly and meticulously, threading his fingers after the brush 
in the coppery strands, pressing the tips of his fingers to her 
scalp in a tender caress.

"Mulder, the power of this thing..." she whispered, indignant, 
almost breathless. "How do we know they won't just direct 
me to take my own life one of these days, or use me to do 
their dirty work, use me against you?"

Mulder stopped his ministrations, horrified by the though, 
and she shifted sideways so that she could look him in the 
eye.

"How do we know this is me talking, that they don't regularly 
alter my perception of things, my psychological makeup?"

He could see in her eyes that she had not relinquished her 
courage, but she was pleading for reassurance. He took a 
deep breath, mastering his feelings and pondering the 
question in an objective manner before he responded.

"No. That isn't how they act, Scully. They have no interest in 
us, in understanding us. Human feelings, human psychology... 
to them it's all a pointless triviality. They won't use it against 
you because they don't regard it as something significant. 
That chip in your neck is nothing more than a homing device. 
For all its power, their underestimation our psyche limits its 
potential to just that."

A sad smile played across her lips and he questioned her with 
a look.

"I can't believe you've profiled the aliens."

He snorted briefly before her expression became solemn 
once again.

"I hope you're right, Mulder, because there's no way of 
telling for certain."

"If they had altered you in any way, Scully, I would know." His 
left hand had settled on her thigh, and his right had resumed 
the caress on her hair. The brush forgotten, he was combing it 
back with his fingers, away from her face, where her eyes 
shone bright with unshed tears. "Your integrity is intact, as 
ever. You don't compromise, your sense of righteousness is 
always tangible and any alteration to that would stand out to 
me like a bloody smear on fresh snow."

Another smile graced her lips, this time accompanied by a 
lonely tear.

"Now you're profiling me."

He shook his head, brushing away the moist trail with his 
thumb. "Believe me, I've tried for years. Your beautiful mind 
will always be a mystery to me." He nuzzled her cheek and 
delighting on her familiar, fresh smell. "But I do know your 
soul," he whispered.

She captured his lips with hers in an intense kiss, trying to 
convey her infinite gratitude for his words, for the virtuous 
way in which he loved her. This man, who had seen and 
shared the horrors in her life and yet could still discern a sense 
of incorruptibility. How much longer could they carry on like 
this, constantly saving each other from imminent 
demoralization? How much longer would the circumstances in 
this precarious planet hold up for them to even have a 
chance? She broke the kiss, needing to voice her thoughts, 
and his forehead came to rest on her temple.

"We are but butterflies in a sandstorm," she said, a hint of 
despair edging her voice. "What if we can't win, Mulder?"

There was silence while he pondered his answer, and his eyes 
too were moist as he searched blindly for her mouth.

"Then I'll be glad to have known you," she felt him say against 
her lips. 

Her mouth opened then to receive his passionate assault and 
suddenly she truly felt desperate for his contact. She got to 
her feet without breaking the kiss and waited for Mulder to 
throw his legs over the edge of the bed before straddling his 
lap. His arms immediately went around her waist and he 
clutched at her back while she dug her fingers in his hair, 
eating his mouth away, relinquishing possession of his lower 
lip only to penetrate his mouth with her tongue. He moaned 
into her and she could feel him hardening against her cunt, 
which was just barely concealed beneath the parting folds of 
the bathrobe. She was desperately wet, aching to be touched 
more thoroughly.

"Mulder..."

Her hoarse whisper communicated her need, and Mulder 
suddenly craved her skin as a starving man craves the last 
apple in Eden. He unfastened her waist strap and the robe 
mercifully parted to reveal her in all her glory, a sight which 
never failed to mesmerize him. His left arm encircled her once 
again beneath the towely material, while his right hand 
conspired with his mouth, descending onto her breasts in a 
frantic search for life-giving nurture. Scully arched her back 
and threw her head back, revelling in the feel of his tongue 
circling her nipple, his hot lips taking in as much of her as they 
could grasp. She never wanted this moment to end, could not 
imagine a future where she would have to forego his touch. 
She had no concept of herself without him anymore and her 
feelings reached the brim and began to spill as she held his 
beloved head and shamelessly continued to push her chest 
into his face.

"When this is all over..." she uttered, breathless, "I will still 
know you, Mulder. As long as I know myself... I will know you 
beyond my last breath."

"Scully..."

Her words overwhelmed him. The conviction with which she 
had spoken said as much about the power of her love for him 
as it did about her meagre hopes for survival. As the weight of 
their fragile mortality reasserted itself, his craving for the 
nourishment her body had to offer redefined itself into 
purest lust. He stood up, lifting Scully with him. He turned 
around and slammed her onto the bed with the intention of 
ravaging her without further thought. But the image that 
struck his eyes as he focused on her took his breath away. Her 
damp hair was splayed across the sheets, in a tangle that 
echoed that of the bathrobe underneath her. She was 
breathing hard, her eyelids heavy but expectant, her lips red 
and swollen, parted, lush from his kisses, and her nipples, 
rosy and turgid, were glistening with his saliva. She had landed 
in contraposto, her knees bent to the right, her arms limp by 
each side of her head: a posture, Mulder thought, reserved 
by the great masters of the Renaissance for figures worthy of 
veneration, images guaranteed to evoke a sense of awe for 
divine beauty. If such things as saints existed, his Scully was a 
modern day one. He had no doubt about it, and it filled him 
with hope to think that her God would not dare abandon her 
to the mercy of their darkest enemies. As he prepared to pry 
her knees apart and descend onto her with open mouth, he 
wondered vaguely whether fucking her meant profanity or 
salvation.

Scully's hips lifted right off the bed when his tongue made the 
lightest of contacts with her swollen clit. Her breath caught 
halfway to her lungs, suspended in expectation of the next 
touch. She then felt her opening being teased more 
insistently, as Mulder introduced his tongue just far enough 
to gather and drink in her vital juices. She felt him make a 
slippery, torturously slow trail back up to her clit and had to 
bite her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out. The moan 
that escaped her was guttural, soul wrenching, and he was 
forced to hold her hands away from her own centre, where 
he wanted to claim total possession. She guided his hand up 
to her breast instead, squeezing tight, almost to the point of 
pain, begging him to be more forceful. He began to circle her 
clit, slowly at first, gathering pace as her hips began to rock in 
compass with his tongue. She wasn't going to last long, her 
body had become a tangle of nerve endings and not much 
else, the sensations blissfully obscuring all her conscious 
thoughts. Nothing mattered beyond his mouth on her cunt. 
Everything else was a vile fabrication, a distant, fading 
nightmare. Waves of pleasure were gathering in her brain, 
increasing by the second. She needed to come. She was on 
the verge and agonizing with the intensity of the sensation, 
too much to cope with. <Let me come>. She had not spoken 
out, but Mulder heard her nonetheless. A moment after the 
silent plea was formed in her mind, he penetrated her with 
his thumb and pressed his middle finger against her anus. The 
effect was immediate, one more stroke of his tongue and he 
felt her stiffen, her walls clench, and her throat uttered an 
involuntary cry that nearly sent him over the edge right in his 
boxers.

As he watched Scully convulse with pleasure, one 
hand still trapped between her legs, he removed the 
offending garment and tossed it aside. He was desperate to 
burry himself in her depths, to ransack her temple in search of 
redemption. He gazed at her, his goddess. Athena and 
Aphrodite all in one, mistress of war and love. His lust for her 
was indescribable, uncontainable. It verged on violence. More 
than once, Mulder had thanked his lucky stars that she 
seemed to be mostly turned on by that particular tendency. 

That, and for the fact that she weighed almost nothing. He 
lifted her off the bed, mostly by her arse, and half placed her 
on his lap as he lunged forward and slammed her back against 
the headboard. She clutched at his shoulders and wrapped 
her legs around his hips, overwhelmed as ever by his vitality, 
his commanding masculinity. She felt her opening throb, 
anticipating his invasion. On his knees amongst the pillows, 
Mulder searched her eyes, opening the passage between 
their souls as he rammed his impossibly hard dick in her hot, 
slippery core. The sensation made them gasp in unison, they 
threw their heads back in ecstasy but managed to maintain 
eye contact.

There was no preamble to Mulder's quest for release. He drove 
hard into her, again and again with all his might, squashing her 
between his body and the hard wooden surface. Their scope in 
that position was limited, and Scully craved for longer thrusts, 
feeling once again the pressure build somewhere in her navel. 
She leaned back, throwing her arms across the top of the 
headboard to sustain some of her weight, and pushed her hips 
forward. The slight shift of weight and angle allowed Mulder to 
nearly exit her body before driving back in, and two thrusts 
later she could feel the wave of a second orgasm forming in her 
depths, gathering momentum. Mulder had finally relinquished his 
hold on her eyes, unable to maintain his own open. His lids were 
fluttering with intense concentration, his lips parted, letting 
his breath out in short pants. He would come any second. She 
felt his dick engorge with his final, preejaculatory exertions, 
and the sensation was enough throw her over the edge just as he 
cried out his own release. As they convulsed together, 
Mulder collapsed into her chest. He gathered her tightly, 
protectively into his arms and held on for long, breathless 
moments as she kissed the top of his head, caressed his scalp 
with her fingernails and made his hair stick out in all 
directions. <I love you.>

"I love you." 

In their post orgasmic flury, neither of them knew who had 
whispered and who had thought.

***


July 24, 2012. 4:06 am. Skyland Mountain.


The recent heat wave seemed like a sweet, distant memory 
right now. At this height and latitude, with the wind blowing 
through his thin summer suit, Skinner felt woefully 
underdressed. He wondered, however, whether this chill in 
his bones, and the feeling of exposure, were more 
psychological than atmospheric. He had the nagging suspicion 
that he was being watched, and given the basis for his 
presence here, that was indeed a chilling thought.

It had not been difficult to find the site from the air. A 
regretfully familiar picture had materialized in the exact same 
location where he had once witnessed one of the worst 
atrocities his lengthy FBI career had yielded. Only this time 
there were no bodies. In fact, there was not much in the way 
of any kind of evidence. Aside from the dozens of cars, 
parked haphazardly and abandoned by the side of a secluded 
path, there was no indication that anybody had been there. 
No foot prints, no signs of struggle. The only tantalizing clues 
as to what happened to all those people were the doors on 
the driver sides, which were invariably ajar. They had been 
scooped right out of their seats. Skinner could almost picture 
them, helpless in their trance, floating upwards in a rigid and 
slightly pitiful sitting position. He thanked Providence that he 
didn't have to imagine Dana Scully amongst them, not his 
time.

He adjusted the angle of another laser beam to point 
into an as yet uncharted spot of darkness, wondering what on 
Earth he would do if he actually found something. Even as the 
thought materialized in his brain, he looked up in the direction 
of the beam, towards the tree line, and caught a glimpse of a 
small figure vanishing amidst the vegetation. Skinner drew his 
gun and began to give chase. <Base of the neck> he reminded 
himself as he ran, aiming gun and flashlight this way and that. 
He came to a halt a few feet beyond the trees, peering 
intently for any sign of movement. He had no idea where the 
figure might have gone. Eventually, he looked down and saw 
footprints, and he was surprised to discover that the 
aforementioned foot had been clad in a shoe. Slowly, his 
senses alert, he began to follow the trail, only to come to a 
halt after a few steps, where the footprints stopped abruptly. 

Someone had just vanished inches away from where Skinner 
stood.

***
END OF PART 2
***