Archives: Spookies, Gossamer, Ephemeral are okay. Others, please ask.
Spoilers: There are a couple of minor mentions in passing.
Classification: ScullySlash. Mel's POV. Vignette.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. CC, 1013 and Fox have the sole rights to their existence. Dammit!
Summary: Dana is late getting home; Mel starts worrying.
Thanks to Rochel who has provided me with invaluable assistance with so many aspects of this story. And thanks to Alicia K. for a quick final read through.
Note: This is the seventh in the series and falls between "The Truth Comes Out" and the start of the "Beach Blanket Bingo" trilogy. At this point in the series, I think it is necessary for you to have some background information from the other stories set in the Beach Blanket Bingo Universe. But, if you only have time for one, I'd suggest "First Contact" to get you up to speed. But all the stories are relatively short, so if you want to read them to get caught up, please, be my guest. Go here: http://scullyfu.populli.net/
i won't sleep,
i can't breathe,
until you're resting here with me.
Shit! That damned clock hasn't moved but five minutes in what seems like the last three hours. I must have looked at it at least ninety times and it's still only five minutes past the last time I checked. She's usually home by now.
Ever since I moved down, we've alternated a few nights at Dana's and then a few here, so she and I have been together every night. I think it's safe to say we've both never been happier. The arrangement has worked out quite nicely. Beyond the wonderful feeling of being together and having someone waiting for us at the end of the day, one of us gets to pamper the other with homemade meals. I don't think I've eaten this well for a long time. When it's just me I tend not to cook, but when Dana's here, I'm forced to make meals. Oh, I don't mean that to sound as if it's a chore, I love doing things for her. And don't let her size fool you, the girl can really pack it away.
Speaking of cooking, Dana is a splendid cook. Not a gourmet type, but just plain old everyday food. She says her mother taught all the kids to cook as a survival skill; she also taught them how to do laundry, iron, and clean house. Smart woman. Not only looking out for her children, but also cutting back on the actual amount of work she had to do as well.
I've yet to meet her, but one day soon, I hope. It all depends on Dana and when she decides it's time to reveal our relationship to her family. Truthfully, I don't think it will be too much longer. Dana's feeling secure about us and she's been dropping hints, like asking me how I told my mother, what was her reaction, how did we deal with it, things like that.
Anyway, we've been together every night except for when she's had to work, like this last week. Seems the X-Files caseload was pretty slow, so Walter assigned Dana and Mulder to a division with a name longer than some binary combinations. On top of which the damned acronym is so forgettable that I...well, I forgot it.
I hate it when she has to do these surveillance things. Ever since I was a child and saw some creepy movie about whackos attacking people at night, I've been apprehensive about being out alone after dark. I know she isn't alone. Mulder's there and I know he's watching her back. Just the same, it bothers me thinking about someone coming after her; there'd be less likelihood she could see the attacker in the dark.
Even at that, she'd probably kick his ass. She's quite the dynamo, my Dana is. I sure as hell wouldn't want to try to overpower her. Pound for pound I don't think there's too many people who could take her, even if it was a sneak attack. For starters, she's pretty wiry; she can squirm away pretty well. The times we've been horsing around and I've tried to pin her down she always manages to flip me, then smiles triumphantly from above. The girl is very competitive.
Guess it stands to reason since she grew up with two brothers and a sister. Being an only child, I never had to vie with anyone for my mother's attention. Nor did I have to try to keep a toy from being snatched away while I momentarily let my guard down. Or fight someone for the last cookie on the plate. Add the fact that Dana is by anyone's standards quite petite. If she weighs one-ten soaking wet, I'd be surprised.
I've seen pictures of the Scully kids as children and each of them towered over her. I presume even at a young age Dana knew her best defense was to outsmart them, since it was apparent she wasn't going to out physical them. It makes me smile to think of her voraciously devouring book after book, filing away information into that steel trap mind of hers, and then popping up with all sorts of tidbits to make herself appear smarter than the others. Her competitive spirit was developed at an early age.
Of course, the prize she garnered most was more attention from her parents, but from what I've been able to piece together, it was mostly her father she wished to impress. She was probably quite the charmer with those big baby blues and sweet little smile, her baby teeth all straight, and those barely detectable freckles. Hell, she's still got it. Lord knows she worked her magic on me the moment I saw her.
Damn. Where is she? She's never been this late before. In fact, she's so late the fire has gone out. Dana adores the bedroom fireplace, the shadows it casts, the warm lighting it provides. She loves for us to lie in front of it on lazy Sunday mornings, sip coffee, read the paper, and make slow, sweet love.
Dana? I thought I heard her. Wrong again. I really need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is another training day, which means lots of questions about why this won't work, what does this mean, blah, blah, blah. Thank goodness I know this stuff inside out; I can pretty much fly on automatic pilot and still do the job. But this will make the fourth night in a row I've gotten virtually no sleep, or at least any good sleep. When Dana leaves I toss and turn until I hear her key in the door.
Fucking clock! It must be broken. It's been hours and the stupid thing still hasn't moved but another ten minutes. Jesus, where the hell is she? If she doesn't get home soon, I'm going to pound this pillow till the feathers fly out.
Okay, keep your mind on something else. She'll be home soon. Slow deep breaths. In through the nose, count to ten, out through the mouth. Repeat a few times. Just relax. She'll be home any minute. She's fine. Mulder's with her, he won't let anything happen. She trusts him with her life. I only hope he's worthy of that trust.
Besides, she's got her gun and I dare say she's a bit of a sharpshooter. I was totally amazed when she told me about how she shot Mulder. First off that she'd actually do it and then, under all the pressure, was able to hit her intended target perfectly. She has nerves of steel and when she sets her mind on something you better believe it's a done deal.
I told her I'd like to learn to shoot, so she's been giving me lessons. We've been to the range a couple times. Not the one the FBI uses, but an out of town one. We try to keep ourselves away from where people who might know us can see us together. Dana is still worried she is being watched and could be compromised. For her it has the potential to put an end to her career. Well, at least, that's her fear. I suppose she could be right. I have to trust her instincts. I mean, she knows these people and what they're capable of much better than I possibly could.
Hell, we're so discreet we don't meet for lunch at the Bureau cafeteria but once a week. God forbid we walk in together; it has to look like an accidental meeting. One of us has to already be sitting at a table and eating, usually me, then the other gets her food and nonchalantly approaches the table, making a show of asking if the seat is taken. Honestly, this subterfuge is getting to be a pain in the ass. Occasionally, though, it has its moments.
Last week, she was looking particularly fine dressed in her navy suit, silk blouse, and those killer three inch heels she insists on wearing. Not wanting to stare, I had watched covertly as Dana approached the table. The top of her breasts bounced a bit with each stride; I love push-up bras. We went through our regular ritual for anyone who may be watching. She asked if the seat was taken; I told her 'no' and invited her to join me; she took the seat directly opposite me. We exchanged warm smiles and pleasantries, but I was distracted. I couldn't get my mind off her breasts. They are my favorite part of her anatomy; so soft and round, they fit perfectly in either my hand or mouth. The responses I receive from her when I touch them gives me the greatest pleasure.
She was talking about something or another when she noticed I wasn't really paying attention. "Hello?" she said. "Mel?"
The sound of my name brought me back. Blinking to refocus my attentions, I said, "Oh, sorry."
"Where were you just now?"
"Thinking about your breasts," I confessed in a low whisper.
She put down her fork, picked up her water and took a small sip. I decided to continue. "About how beautiful they are. How much I love watching them gently bounce when you walk. The feel of them against my skin." Her breathing became quicker; I was having fun. "The way your chest rises and falls when you get turned on." I paused. "Like now." Her eyes were dilating and taking on a cloudy appearance. "Is something wrong, Dana?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice a bit raw. This time she took a good-sized gulp of water.
"I mean, there's steam rising off your upper lip and you look a bit flushed."
"Stop it, please. This is neither the time or place," she protested. But I was having fun watching her squirm, I was just wishing she was squirming on my face.
"Not the time or place?" I asked, feigning ignorance of her situation.
"To be talking like this," she stated flatly, although her voice was raspy.
"But you're not talking. As far as I can tell, this is a one-way conversation."
"Stop grinning at me."
"Dana, you want people to think we're having a pleasant lunch, don't you?"
"Of course. But--"
"Well, then, I shall continue." I was grinning so damned hard I thought my cheeks would burst. "You know, I'd venture a bet your upper lip isn't the only part of your body that is pretty moist right about now." I thought I heard her moan. "I would love nothing better than to put you on this table, rip off your nylons and panties, and eat you for lunch. You're much tastier. In fact, you're my very own Happy Meal." She turned beet red. "And did I mention how much I love your secret sauce?" She was breathing so rapidly I thought she was going to hyperventilate and pass out.
Just then, Walter appeared. "Agent Scully, are you all right?" he asked, his voice deep and concerned. He nodded in my direction.
Agent Scully was definitely not all right. She needed air and lots of it; a cold shower probably wouldn't have hurt either. It took her a couple beats to gather herself together. Clearing her throat, she answered, "Sir? Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
"You look a little hot. Can I get you anything? More water?" Walter really is the sweetest man. The look on his face was priceless. He's been through a lot with Dana over the years and it's apparent that he truly cares for her.
The wheels were turning in Dana's head; I could see it in her eyes, right behind the panic, but she recovered nicely. "Oh, I ate a jalapeno that was extremely hot. It just took my breath away momentarily. More water would be nice," she said as I shoved my own glass towards her. She took a swallow and choked on it. Walter went to get her a refill and when he returned Agent Scully had as well.
"Thank you, Sir." She gave him a hint of a smile and a nod of the head. She was dismissing him, informing him to take his leave. He obviously knew what the signal meant.
"Well, if you're sure, Agent." He searched her face, perhaps trying to assure himself she was truly all right. After a moment he added, "Enjoy the rest of your lunch, ladies."
Dana was fit to be tied. With a smile on her face in case of onlookers, and her voice kept low, she read me the riot act. I didn't care; it was worth it. Besides, I barely heard a word; I was too busy smiling, reliving the last ten minutes.
We were staying over at Dana's that night and when I drove up her car was already parked. I remember thinking she must have left work early. Letting myself into the apartment, I found her standing stark naked, except for her high heels, her elbows supported by the backside of the couch, her legs spread seductively. She slowly twisted her head around, her face partially hidden by her hair, but her eyes were ablaze, hungry, almost feral. With her ass pushed up at me she looked like a cat in heat. I approached and stood as close as possible without actually touching her. She smelled like lust, scented heat rolling off her in waves.
Our breath vying for air, I let my hands hover, caressing the empty space surrounding her breasts while she groaned with desire. Thrusting her vibrator back towards me, she growled, "Fuck me." I did. "More," she demanded. I complied. "Again, please," she purred. I threw the vibrator aside. With my hands on her hips, I spun her around and dove down. Like a kitten with a warm bowl of milk, my tongue lapped at her before my mouth devoured her hot pussy. "I love you," she murmured.
God, I hate this waiting. Not knowing. I almost wished I smoked. Ha! I'd be quite the picture, looking like a nervous husband pacing the waiting room while his wife is doing all the work popping out junior.
When I found out I had the computer-consulting job at the FBI, I wanted nothing more than to move in with Dana and I truly think she expected me to. But we were very new then and even though we cared about each other, I didn't think it was such a good idea to put us in that sort of pressurized situation. If we didn't continue to be a couple, it would have meant a whole other set of problems with living arrangements. As it turned out, we are very much in love and it probably would have worked. Hell, we may as well be living together now. But, just the same, I think it's good I have my own space, if nothing more than for appearance sake. It would have been difficult to possibly avoid discovery if I was living at her place.
But, I love my temporary home; it's very cozy and Dana enjoys it too. She delights in coming here a few nights a week, it's kind of like a mini-vacation from her regular routine. God, I love her. She is so sweet and loving. I'd do anything for her. I honestly didn't think I'd ever fall so deeply in love again, but Dana just grabbed my heart the minute I saw her at the conference in Seattle. I want us to go back there for our anniversary. I won't go so far as to say it was the place we fell in love, but it was the place we met and therefore deserving of an annual visit.
I think I first realized I was in love with her when she came to my home in Boston. She was so frightened and nervous, but nonetheless, very courageous. She had never been with a woman before and she was shaking like the proverbial leaf, but she didn't permit her fears to stop her. When she allowed me to make love to her, it was a tremendous act of faith on her part, that I would take care of her, that I would not hurt her or take advantage of that faith. Right then. That very moment when she entrusted herself to me is when I fell in love with her. Completely, hopelessly, and with all my heart.
I knew I'd found someone I could open up to, confide in, and give myself to entirely without apprehension. I instinctively knew she was a person who would not treat my love lightly. She wouldn't take advantage of me or ever use my feelings against me.
Oh, it was hard for a while. I was carrying buried and some not so buried baggage from another relationship and I started seeing Dana doing things my ex used to do. It was all on my side, I was projecting those things onto her out of my fear of rejection and being hurt again. But we got through it and came out the other side. Dana loves me. Of that, I'm sure. She tells me all the time. If not in words, then in actions. Although she knows how much I need to hear those 'three little words' and she does use them freely, she also lets me know with the thousand and one special things she does for me.
The way she wakes me with a kiss and a smile every morning. She cooks my favorite food at least once a week, homemade macaroni and cheese. She uses a recipe that's been passed down through the Scully family for generations. Sometimes I think Dana regrets she'll have no one to pass it on to. Or she'll bring home fresh flowers to make the house smell like spring, just because. Or the way she makes love to me. God, where is she? She is a tender and generous lover. Focus, Mel. When I'm working late on the computer she'll quietly make me a cup of tea and deliver it with a kiss on my cheek or a stroke of my hair. Often, she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, just letting me feel her love.
I check the clock again. Sonofabitching thing. I send it flying across the room. Good thing I left my watch on the dresser or it'd be keeping that worthless piece of ticking crap company.
Wait. Did I hear the front door? I sit as still as a statue and listen intently. I recognize the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. She's trying to be quiet. She's home. She's safe. Now I can relax.
"Honey?" I call.
"Did I wake you?" she asks, speaking softly as she pushes open the door and enters the room.
I have the nightlight on. Lying in the dark waiting for her to come home somehow seemed more pathetic.
Kicking off her shoes, she shrinks about three inches.
"It's very late. What are you still doing up?"
Her sleep cycle is all mixed up with these crazy hours; even in the dim light I see dark circles under her eyes. She throws her jacket over the back of the chair and starts to pull her turtleneck over her head. When she emerges, her hair is all tousled. Even it looks tired.
"Thinking," I answer, fighting unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. Actually, I heard somewhere that yawning is less about sleep and more to do with trying to take in oxygen. It makes sense because I've been holding my breath for quite a while, but now with her home I can resume my normal oxygen intake.
She's nearly nude. It's at these times I'm reminded of just how tiny she is. When she's dressed for work she takes on a different persona, becoming nearly larger than life. But here, when we're alone, her suit of armor stripped away, Dana is at her most vulnerable.
"About what?" she asks lifting her face to me.
"You are so beautiful."
She lets out a laugh. "That's what you're thinking about? At this hour?"
"At every hour."
She walks over to me and takes my hand. Giving it a kiss, she says, "I love you." She starts to turn away, but I refuse to release her.
"Sweetie, I want to get cleaned up."
Now that she's here, I want nothing more than to hold her and feel her near. "Come to bed."
"Just let me grab a quick shower and brush my teeth."
I release her hand. There's no sense trying to convince her. I'll just have to wait.
"Don't be long," I plead.
"Five minutes, I promise." She smiles at me as she turns towards the bathroom. "Hey, what's the clock doing on the floor?"
I shrug. "Long story."
She giggles as she bends over to pick it up, tosses it back onto the bed, and then disappears behind the bathroom door.
I have no option but to wait. The clock moves just as slowly now that she's home. Whoever said that time stood still was a genius. I fluff the pillows, shake the bed sheets and comforter. And even though I'm convinced the clock is broken, I set the alarm.
The shower stops and she emerges in a matter of a minute wrapped in her towel. Oh, God, I love it when she drops the towel by the bed and presents herself to me, all fresh and clean. It's always worth the wait. Like an angel from above, she's smiling down at me.
"You are beautiful."
"Oh, no. Not tonight, it's too late and you have to get up in a few hours."
"That's not what I was implying."
"It wasn't?" She asks, pouting and feigning hurt feelings before breaking out in a broad grin that illuminates her face.
"Okay, it was," I confess, smiling, "but you're right." I pause. "Please just come lie close to me."
"I'd like nothing better."
I lift the covers and she drops the towel. I gasp openly. Her soft pale skin is slightly flushed from the hot shower, reminding me of how it looks after we've made love. Her breasts are firm and the sudden change in air temperature has her nipples erect. She smiles at my audible appreciation and skooches close to me. I breathe the fragrance lingering on her body from the scented soap. We wrap our arms around each other and kiss slowly, her breasts pushed against mine, our legs entwined. Jesus, I know I agreed to some much-needed sleep, but dear God, how much self-control is one person expected to exhibit?
I stroke her hair and discover the ends are damp where they crept out from under the protection of the shower cap. "Baby, do you realize that if something," I pause momentarily, "anything, were to happen to you no one would even give a thought to notifying me?"
She's silent for a moment. "No, I guess they wouldn't." She sounds sad. I wonder if she's thinking it'd be her fault for not just telling her family about us, or at least letting Mulder in on the news. It's likely he would be the first to know if something were to happen to her.
"Next time you're going to be late, call and wake me up. Just to touch base. I'd rather that then to not know what's going on. Please?" I don't dare tell her I don't sleep a wink when she's gone.
She hesitates. "It's not always possible."
"Just promise me you'll try to find an opportunity?"
"I'm sorry you were worried, sweetie."
Why is she avoiding the issue? I've seen her do this before, she thinks that if she avoids something, files it into the dark recesses of her mind, it doesn't exist and she doesn't have to deal with it.
"Promise me," I insist, looking directly into her eyes, willing her to agree.
"Thank you." After reaching over to shut off the nightlight, I kiss her again and we settle into our sleep positions. "Sweet dreams."
"I love you so much, Mel," she says, her warm lips vibrating against my throat.
A snippet of a childhood prayer comes streaming back into my consciousness. "If I should die before I wake..." Please, God, let it be just like this, here with her.
"I love you, too, baby."
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On to part 8, She Wants You