On a Clear Night by 13th_blackbird Email: 13thblackbird@gmail.com Rating: R Pairing: Mulder/Scully Spoilers: Occurs after IWTB Warning: Un-beta'd It starts when he puts up a star chart on the wall of his office--well, the pile of papers he calls an office--pinning it over his newspaper cutouts and reports. She doesn't ask him about it, just raises an eyebrow and leaves for the hospital. Two weeks later, the telescope arrives at the post office for him. (They may not be fugitives anymore, but old habits die hard, and they don't want anyone at the house but them.) He spends hours setting it up, calibrating it just right, and reading though the giant manual that comes with it. She still doesn't ask. It's late summer, fading slowly into fall, and around this time of year, she can't help but think of William. He'll be buying new clothes for school. She doesn't wonder what he'll look like now: she knows exactly the expression in his dark eyes, the way his hair sticks up in the back. They can go for hours without speaking, companionable, comforting silences broken by pages turning, or one of them looking up, just briefly, just checking. It's starting to drive her crazy, though. Doesn't he wonder too? He heads out into the yard late one night, looking though the telescope, muttering something about Saturn. She brings him a cup of coffee later, he's sitting on the ground, looking up. He accepts the mug, his fingers brushing hers, and she shivers, though not from the chill in the air. "I never really looked at them before, Scully," he says, as though continuing a conversation they haven't had, or answering a question she hasn't asked. "I wanted to see so many things, I didn't want to tempt fate by just looking up." She sits down beside him. "Do you think it's true? About 2012? Your research--" He half-laughs. "No. It's not research. It's it's a waste of time." A pause. "No. I think--I think we've seen what there is to see. They're old men. In the end, even they have limits." But you don't, she doesn't say. They look up. There is always more to see. He kisses her, so gentle, teasing her with just the tip of his tongue, and she pulls him on top of her. His weight and warmth still feel so right, and her breath catches as she thinks about how many times she almost lost this without even realizing it, without ever-- She bites the skin below his jaw, and he gasps. He glides the tips of his fingers under her shirt--she's not wearing a bra--over her nipples, still staying gentle, not responding to her gasps and half-moans, and the way she wishes he would hurt her, just a little. His fingers slip into her pants, rubbing her clit, and almost-not-quite slipping inside of her, and she writhes and tries to make him do it harder. She reaches for him and he takes her hand in his free one, pushing her away. This is for her, now, she senses. There will be time for that later. There is always time, now. His tongue is agonizingly slow, and his fingers still teasing. She pants and looks down at him straight in the eyes, giving him her best disapproving eyebrow, and he finally relents, pushing his fingers deep within her, pushing against her harder, faster. "Mulder!" she half shouts as she comes, and she can hear the faint echo from across the field, and blushes. He kisses her neck, wraps around her body, and rests his forehead against her neck. She tries to be still, her breath returns to normal after a few minutes, and she can feel herself slipping into sleep. "Don't you want to keep looking?" she breathes, half-heartedly indicating the forgotten telescope. "No," he says, looking at her. Written for the Battle!