World Without End Book Two: Chapter Seventeen

by Rachel Anton

I was wrong.  She did spend the night.  She stayed with me until the sun came up.  I think she even fell asleep for a few minutes.  But as soon as the light started pouring in through the window, she was wriggling out of my arms and pulling on her clothes.  I almost asked her if she was going to turn into a pumpkin if she didn't get home before six A.M., but  thought better of it.

Once she'd gotten herself ready to leave, she turned back to me with a sad, apologetic little smile.  I was still lying there, prone and naked, emotional wounds gaping, and she leaned over me and planted a chaste kiss on my cheek.

I think there was a thank you in that kiss.  And some kind of regret over having to leave.  But she didn't say anything in actual words before she walked out the door.  And we haven't spoken since then.  It's been almost two days.

Tonight I will see her again.  When we first injected her with the serum, we decided to run the tests to determine whether or not the cure worked as soon as it was viable to do so, and that turned out to be this evening, at eight o'clock.  It's seven-forty-five.

Roseanne and I are already at the lab, waiting nervously for her arrival.  Well, I'm nervous, anyway.  Roseanne looks more tired than anything else.

I think my anxiety stems more from uncertainty about Scully's health than about the state of our relationship.  I think that I know what to expect now where the latter is concerned.  I might wish that it didn't have to be so, but wishing cannot change the reality I have come to accept over the past couple of days.

The reality is that Scully is not the same person I used to know.  Although I will always love her, she is not the person I fell in love with.  And she's not the person who fell in love with me.  I miss that person.  I miss her more than anything else I've lost from my old life, and I wish that I hadn't been forced to say good-bye to her two nights ago.

Hell, who am I kidding?  I said good-bye to her six years ago.  The person I made love to, the person who I shared a fantasy with, an indulgence, is also not the person I used to know.  She was just pretending to be.  And it doesn't take a rocket scientist, or even a trained psychologist, to realize that if the person you're sleeping with has to pretend to be somebody else in order to go through with the whole thing, your potential for future encounters is pretty limited.

Yes, it makes me sad.  Yes, it makes me bitter.  Yes, I have considered taking a scalpel to my throat on more than one occasion this weekend.  But the longing, the desperate aching for her, it's not as bad as it was before.  It's less of a rampant desire for a person who remains forever out of reach and more of a nostalgia, a mourning for a lost love.

And I do know that no matter what there is to say about our night together, the person she is now is still a person who loves me.  That has remained, although it's slightly mutated.

"Test tube for your thoughts?"

I stop staring blankly at my fingers, and look up to see Roseanne standing over me holding a plastic, Tupperware-like thing with a bunch of dirty lab equipment in it.

Before I can form an appropriately cagey response, Scully makes her grand entrance.  She looks only slightly better than I feel.  But not as bad as she did the last time I saw her.

Unwillingly, my eyes dart immediately down to her finger before she even opens her mouth.  She's wearing it again.  I'm not surprised.

When she does begin to speak, it's all business.  It's all about tests and blood and her good old science.  And that's fine.  I don't think I could stand anything else from her right now.  Especially not in front of another person.

But I will be able to, eventually.  Sometime soon, I will be able to be her friend again.  I know that because when she stands next to me, when she looks me in the eye and smiles, I don't feel the typical jilted lover response.  I don't want to scratch her eyes out of their sockets or tear her heart out and stomp on it.  I only want to start the tests so that we know for sure that she is getting better.  And so we do.

And three hours later, I know two things.  First, and most importantly, she is getting better.  There are no traces of the cancerous cells left in her blood.  And secondly, I know that Scully and I can still work together reasonably well and with minimal discomfort.  In fact, in some ways, I feel more comfortable with her than I did before.

Maybe we'll be okay.  Maybe I won't die without her.  Maybe.

I remember a time, not so long ago, although it feels like a lifetime, when I returned to her feeling proud.  I walked through this very door, wounded and bloody but smiling, and staggered my way into the lab.  And I showed her what I had done, what I'd accomplished.  Then I collapsed.

She took care of me then, tended to my broken body.  What will she say now when it's my spirit that is mangled?

I have nothing to show her this time.  No victory trophies, no fancy injuries to "ooh" and "ahh" over, nothing but a story of devastating loss.  And my regret.  My deep fear that the way I left things will forever color the way she looks at me, the way she feels.

It's dark out now but not so late that she'd be asleep.  Thankfully, I've managed to sneak over here under the cover of night without being seen.  There weren't enough of us coming back this time to warrant a welcoming party.  I don't think anyone even noticed the two pathetically empty trucks pulling into the parking lot.  Still, it's only a matter of time before the few men who've returned start talking.  I need to get to her before anyone else does.  Not that I'm going to tell her lies about what happened.  I want to tell her everything, if she'll let me.  But I need for her to hear it from me.

When I find her, she is not alone.  Roseanne is sitting at a desk, writing something, and Mulder…Mulder is there, standing next to her, talking to her.  All at once I remember why I threw her out in the first place and everything that I was afraid of hits me in the gut like a brick.  I was right.  She is sleeping with him.  She is.

But then she looks up and sees me standing there in the doorway and our eyes lock tightly and no…no she isn't.  No.

I peripherally sense Roseanne walking towards me, touching my shoulder, asking if I'm "all right?"  I can't answer her though.  I can barely even see her.  All I see is Dana, her body frozen in place like a wind-up doll that's just wound down, but her eyes are traveling over me.  Telling me things.

And then Roseanne is leaving, the rubber of her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor, but Mulder stays.  He looks back and forth between us, nervous and questioning, guarding her like her fucking dog does.

"It's okay, Mulder," she whispers, her lips barely moving.  He purses his lips and glowers at me but he does start walking.  As he passes me, I think he mutters something derisive under his breath, but I don't really hear it.

Finally the door shuts behind me and we're alone.

The momentum that carried me back home kicks in again and I find myself being pulled across the room towards her.  When I'm standing just a few inches away from her she also asks, "Are you all right?"

I start to nod, yes.  Yes, I'm all right.  But I'm not really.  Not at all.  And soon I'm shaking my head no and before I can even consider my actions, I'm on my knees in front of her, grabbing at her legs like a lost child who's finally found his mother in a shopping mall.

She's still not moving.  She feels stiff and cold.  Resistant and afraid.

"Dana…oh God, Dana.  I'm so sorry.  So, so sorry.  Oh, God."

My voice sounds ragged and broken, even to my own ears.  I sound pitiful.  I am pitiful.  And she does take pity on me.  After a few moment's hesitation, I feel her hands in my hair, slowly stroking, and I don't think I've ever experienced anything as comforting as this.

"Sorry, m'sorry…so sorry," I repeat endlessly.  There is so much more that I want to say, but these are the only words I seem capable of forming at the moment.

She kneels down in front of me and caresses my cheeks with her fingers.

"It's okay.  Alex, it's okay."

"No, no it's not.  It's not okay.  I was stupid.  Stupid and wrong and I do trust you, Dana.  I do.  I was just so scared, I was so…I thought you were gonna leave me and I was scared so I just…I thought…God, I'm so sorry…"

"Alex, shh, it's okay."

She plants a kiss on my cheek and it should be enough to quiet the stream of incomprehensible nonsense that has started to come from my mouth.  But it's not.  There's just too much I need to get out.

"No, no, Dana.  I could have died.  I almost died and all I could think was that if I had died those would have been the last things I said to you and they were so wrong and so stupid and I just couldn't stand that and if…I don't want you to be unhappy, but if you're unhappy, you know, I can change.  I can.  I can change if it'll make you happy."

"No, no, Alex.  God.  Don't change.  Please.  Don't."

She takes my face in her hands and moves her mouth dangerously close to mine.

"Don't."

"I screwed up really bad, baby," I whisper against her lips.

"It's okay.  It's okay."

She kisses me.  Or I kiss her.  Somehow we are kissing.  And shaking, oh God, she is shaking as much as I am.

There is more, so much more that I need to tell her.  But even more than that, I just need her.  I need to feel her, to bury myself inside of her so deep that I might never find the way out.

I kiss her with that need and I think that she feels it too.  She's moaning and digging her nails into my scalp and we're both breathing way too fast.  Too, too fast.

"Alex…Alex," she sighs and then starts pulling at the buttons of my shirt with a sound that makes me think of a dying animal.  Something like a sob or a squeal or a…God, does it even matter?  She's desperate for me.  She still wants me.

I pull her body tightly against mine and blaze a trail down her neck with my tongue.  She wriggles and gasps in my embrace, so responsive to the slightest touch that it boggles the mind.  She doesn't just want me.  She wants me more than she ever has before.

"Missed you, devotchka.  So much."

"Mmoh God.  Me too.  Me too."

She runs her hands over my chest, grabbing and scratching greedily, and then down and around to my ass, my thighs.  My head drops into the crook of her neck and for a moment I'm still, panting and selfishly basking in the sensation of having her touch me everywhere.

But soon the temptation of her skin calls to me and I start pulling at her shirt, untucking it from her jeans and reaching my hand underneath.  Her stomach is quivering and hot.  Thank you God, she's not wearing a bra.  Her nipples are gloriously hard and when I run my thumb over one of them, she practically screams.

I kiss her again, if you can even call it a kiss.  It's more like a frenetic knashing of teeth and tongues and lips.  My hand is shaking so hard that I'm amazed when I manage to get the fly of her pants undone.  She may have foregone a bra this evening but she's got a pair of panties on and they are nothing but an obstacle at the moment.

I can't get them off quickly enough to suit my needs so I just plunge my fingers under the waistband.  She's already wet.  So, so wet.  I slip two fingers inside her and caress her clit with my thumb.

"Oh my God," she croons, rocking against me with her eyes squeezed shut.  I feel her hands at my waist, struggling impatiently with my jeans.  I would help her, but my hand is otherwise occupied.  Soon enough, though, she manages to work her way in.  Soon enough my cock is in her hungry little hands and she's grabbing and pulling at me clumsily.  I'm afraid she might hurt me.

"Dana, Dana, I wa…wa…"

"God, just fuck me.  Fuck me, Alex."

It suddenly occurs to me that we are, in fact, kneeling on the floor of the lab, under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, behind a door that is closed, but not locked.  I guess it's too late to worry about that now.

I take my hand out from between her legs and pull her pants and underwear down to her knees.  We've encountered a familiar problem here.  Those damn boots.  Ah, well.  She knows now that I can do it better than this.  I don't need to impress her with my prowess this time.  I just need to be inside her.  Now.

She turns around and bends over, offering me the easiest method of entry at this point, and I take it.

Oh.  Oh, God.  Yes.

This is it.  This is where I belong.  This is who I am.  How could I have even considered anything else?

"Alexxx," she hisses, grinds into me, and then again.  "Alex Alex Alex," almost as if she were expecting someone else and is pleasantly surprised to discover that yes, it is really me.

I don't even bother with trying to take it slow.  Gentleness can come later.  Right now all that I can do is slam into her again and again, grope around between her legs and hope that this feels half as good to her as it does to me.  Nothing.  Nothing could ever be this good.

Sooner than I even expected I feel her tightening around me.  Her breath comes in short, hyper little pants and she grabs my hand and presses it harder against her clit.

"Alex, Alex, I'm…oh…"

One more particularly deep, sharp thrust and she's crying out wordlessly, her spasms pulling me even deeper still.

Then she's pulling my hand away, overstimulated, but still bucking back into me.  So close, so good.  She is so good.

I reach around for something else to grab onto.  For her hair.  Her hair.

Her hair is gone.  Oh my God.  Her hair.

"Whu…where…hay…hair?"  I choke, confused and terrified.

"S'gone.  M'sorry."

I still don't understand but it's not enough to stop the tidal wave of my orgasm.  I come into her with a long, low groan of relief and ecstasy and so many other things that I could never put to words.

I drape myself over her, needing to collapse, to lie down and wrap myself around her and sleep for about a century.  But we're still on the stupid floor and now that my sexual energy has been spent my knees are starting to hurt.

Dana is giggling.

I nuzzle the back of her neck with my nose, still missing the hair but loving the smell of her skin post-sex.

"Let's go home, baby."

End Chapter Seventeen
Continued in Chapter Eighteen

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