The Oort Cloud
by Aloysia Virgata

Email: aloysia.virgata@yahoo.com
Rating: R

Spoilers: Home Again/Season 10

Summary: She wants no light just now, wants no familiar
scents or sounds intruding.  Mulder's weight only, Mulder's
sweat and breath and heavy heartbeat at her brest.

Author's note: Thanks to the lovely @dashakay for the
inspiration.


Their room overlooks the inlet where the waves sweep her
parents back together, their atoms mingling in the bellies of
fish.  Somewhere else her mother's lungs breathe, her kidneys
keep delicate metabolic balance.  Somewhere else her soul has
risen.

Scully clutches the quarter at her neck, her five-gram mystery. 
Darkness bleeds from her, bleeds back into her.  She transfuses
herself.

She wants no light just now, wants no familiar scents or sounds
intruding.  Mulder's weight only, Mulder's sweat and breath
and heavy heartbeat at her breast.

He sits across the room on the bed, a solid presence in the
shadows.  Mulder is turned to her and she pretends nothing, she
denies nothing.

Scully reaches up under her skirt, tugs her underwear down
until they whisper to the floor.  She walks to him, barefoot, to
stand between his knees.

He runs his curled fingers down her cheek before dropping his
hand to the bed, waiting.  She unbuttons his shirt with steady
hands, pushes it away from his broad shoulders and straddles
his lap.

Mulder sighs but makes no other sound as she takes her blouse
off.  Her bra is a black satin balconette and she realizes now
that she wore it in anticipation.  

Five o'clock shadow rough against her palms when she cups his
face.

He fumbles at his trousers and it's 2000 again, it's her and
Mulder stumbling sideways into her apartment, where she left
buttons scattered on the floor trying to get his shirt around that
goddamn sling.

She woke up screaming in his bed once after Donnie Pfaster;
not because she killed him but because she dreamed she hadn't
and Mulder brought her coffee and let her tremble without a
word.

Behind her for the first time, she remembers that well,
remembers blushing and groaning his name, her hair too short
for him to wind his fingers through and so his hands gripped
her waist and she practically came from that alone.

Now, though.  Now he enters her and she weeps against his
shoulder; heaving, silent sobs that leave mascara streaked
across his skin.  His hands clutch at her back, at the other place
Philadelphia has marked her.

He thrusts up into the cold fire of her body, and she wants to
apologize for how she is, for how she isn't.  She wants to give
him back the past five years.  She wants to give him back his
son.

But it will break the spell to speak, it will send her back to the
underworld, and so she looks up to see the shine of his eyes in
the dark.  Watches herself reflected back.

His hands slide up, massaging her biceps, her neck, tangling in
her hair.  Her scalp tingles, her thighs ache, and she expects
there might be blood between them from such long abstention.

Their bodies remember this, even in mourning, and if desire is
the Devil's pitchfork, God shouldn't have made it feel so good.

Scully, panting, licks her tears from his chest.  She nips at his
throat, his jaw, his chin.

He bites at her mouth, bruising kisses that make her ears ring. 
His fingers are laced behind her head, thumbs at her temples,
and she imagines him drawing her pain out in long, crimson
cobwebs.

Mulder grits his teeth against release, wanting more for her, but
Scully craves the intensity of it and clenches herself around
him.  Five, six times, and then liquie heat against her own slick
muscles.  His breath is ragged in her ear, warm and living, and
the tears come again.  Scully burrows her head under his chin,
sated for the moment.

To love and be loved like this, she realizes, is extraordinary. 
She hopes her son, lost to her but no to the light, will have it as
well.