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Genesis IX: Of Saints and Sinners


SUMMARY: Scully, Mulder and Marsh wrestle with their personal demons in the aftermath of Donnie Pfaster's attack.



Washington, DC



"Alarm," Scully muttered.


"Mmppph," Marsh replied, and rolled over toward her, wrapping one arm around her waist, pressing close along the curve of her back.


The insistent buzz continued, and Scully slapped the button down on the bedside clock. "Marsh," she murmured, automatically drawing Marsh's hand up to her breast. "You have to get up."


"That's not the way to get me out of bed," Marsh whispered against Scully's ear, brushing her fingers down Scully's belly. She pushed her hips a little tighter against Scully's firm butt and growled softly.


"You have Grand Rounds this morning," Scully reminded her, her body suddenly much more awake. She shifted onto her back, letting her legs part under Marsh's hand. How many times had they awakened this way, and each time still so new? She turned her face to kiss the soft spot under Marsh's collarbone.


"I know," Marsh answered softly, leaning up on one elbow. Her explorations continued southward. "But surgeons shower fast." She bent her head, caught Scully's lower lip gently between her teeth, sucked lightly. She sighed as Scully's tongue teased along her own. "And I want you," she managed between lazy morning kisses.


"Mmm," Scully responded, lifting her hips encouragingly. Her mind was just reaching awareness, but her body was already humming. "What else can you do quickly?"


Marsh laughed quietly. "Some things should never be rushed."


Scully moved Marsh's fingers directly onto the spot where she needed them most. "Some things won't wait."  She caught her breath as her nerve endings twitched. *God, I'm always so ready in the morning*


"Ah, but this will have to last all day," Marsh teased, her lips caressing the underside of Scully's jaw as she brushed feather-light fingertips over her throbbing hard clit.


"Uhnnn," Scully answered, pressing her hand down over Marsh's, urging her with quick firm movements. "So make it, ohh, good."


Their fingers intertwined, and together, they slipped over slick smooth ridges and between warm, swollen folds. Then Scully led Marsh inward, moaning as Marsh filled her.


"God, that's nice," Marsh breathed hoarsely against Scully's neck.


"God -- has -- oh --nothingtodo -- uh -- withit."


"Mmmm, maybe," Marsh murmured, eyes closed, stroking gently, almost reverently. *But I feel so -- blessed*


"Thumb," Scully gasped. "Touch me."


Laughing, Marsh complied, starting a rhythm that matched the throbbing around her fingers. Back and forth she pressed, lost in the surging undulations of Scully's body. Soft moans and small startled cries mingled in an indescribable litany of love as Marsh carried Scully closer. Their hearts quickened together, racing with the flow of blood and rush of breath.


At the end, Marsh stilled, every sense exquisitely alive, attuned to every tremor that surged through Scully's body, memorizing every sound torn from her throat. *A miracle. Each and every time*


"Give me a minute," Scully finally gasped, turning to face Marsh. "I don't want you suffering all day."


Marsh raised her head, squinted at the clock. 5:34.


"Gotta go."


Scully tightened her grip. "I love you." Awake now, and very serious. *I hate it when you go*


Marsh kissed her, the teasing touch replaced by a sudden possessiveness. Hard, demanding for an instant. "I love you, too. More than I can say."


"You just did," Scully said, knowing it with more certainty than anything in her life. She kissed her again, then pushed her away gently. "Go. Or I won't let you."


"Go back to sleep," Marsh said as she slipped from the bed. "I'll shower at work."


And then she was gone, and Scully went back to sleep.


Until she was awakened at 6:06am.



38 hours later


Through the open door, Mulder saw the Porsche careening up to the curb. He shouldered through the crowd of investigators, technicians, and crime scene personnel to intercept Marsh on the front steps. She was still in scrubs, without a coat, despite the frigid temperatures. She looked frantic.


"Where is she, Mulder?"  Marsh demanded, her voice brittle and tight. "Is she hurt?" 


Mulder extended one arm tentatively to restrain her, but Marsh brushed it off impatiently.  Her eyes were blazing, a dangerous wildness swirling in their depths. "Just tell me."


"In the bedroom.  She's fine," he said calmly. More calmly than he felt.  He had been scared down to his shoes. First that he wouldn't get to Scully in time, and then when he did - terrified by what he found. And by what he had witnessed.


"She's not fine, Mulder.  How could she be?  Let me get by."


She stared at him, anger and something infinitely more frightening flickering across her face. Something menacing. He remembered the stories about Marsh's breakdown when Karen Summers had died. He wondered fleetingly if she still carried a gun. "Marsh --," he tried again.  "She's -- she took a beating -- it was ugly." 


"And where were you, Mulder?" she grated through clenched teeth, her hands fisted at her sides, white with strain. "Where the fuck were you?" She wanted to hurt something, someone. She swallowed hard, burying her fury, because this was not what Dana needed.


Before he could reply, Marsh pushed her way past the strangers milling about, stepping over the scattered pieces of overturned furniture without really taking in the ruin.  She paused only long enough to close what was left of the shattered bedroom door.  Then she was across the room, and gathering Scully into her arms. 


"How are you?"  Marsh whispered softly, holding the smaller woman gently but completely within the circle of her arms.  Dana trembled against her, and Marsh's heart lurched.  "Where are you hurt?" Her voice was soothing, while inside, she was raging.


For a long moment, Scully did not speak.  She rested her head against Marsh's chest and listened to the steady, comforting, solid sound of her heartbeat.  She pressed as close as she could, trying desperately to dispel the cold creeping through her body.  At length she spoke.  "I'm banged up a little bit.  Nothing too serious."


Marsh leaned back enough to look down into Scully's face.  "Your upper lip is split.  It's going to take a couple of stitches."


There was a strange emptiness in Dana's normally vibrant gaze.  Marsh might have thought it was pain, if she weren't so familiar with the color of pain in Dana's eyes.  She had seen it often enough. This was something totally different, and terrifying. *Oh jesus, what did he do to you?*


"Can you tell me what happened?" Marsh tried again. *Let me help you. God, let me do something*


Scully shook her head.  "Not now.  I can't -- "


Marsh nodded, drawing her near, pressing her lips to the pale skin of Scully's forehead.  "I understand.  Can you at least come with me to the hospital so I can repair these lacerations?"


Scully stepped back and surveyed the remains of her bedroom. There was blood on the floor, streaks of it congealing to black clumps amidst shards of glass. Her blood, and - his. Bits of mirror reflected the scene in a thousand fractured angles.  She struggled with a disorienting sense of unreality, knowing that all too soon it would dissolve into horrible truth. She watched herself pulling the trigger, saw the blood spray, and the body recoiling from the power of the impact. Her power -- her pain and loathing and mind-numbing fury. Had she been a disciple of good or the instrument of evil? Or had she merely sinned. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt --


"Dana?" Marsh asked quietly.


Scully looked at her blankly. There would be questions, many of them, from both the bureau and the local police.  And then what would she do? She wasn't sure how she was going to answer them; she wasn't sure what she thought herself.  "Let's go now," Scully said hollowly.  "I need to get away from here."


There was a soft knock at the door, and Mulder's tentative voice, "Can I come in?"


Scully cleared her throat.  "Come in Mulder, the door's open." She laughed without humor.  "Well actually, the door's about to fall off."


Mulder entered cautiously, then looked from one to the other. Scully seemed shell-shocked, and Marsh looked ready to hit someone. Most likely him. Maybe he deserved it. He hadn't really listened when Scully tried to tell him what was happening. He didn't believe, at least not in the forces that she was talking about. Evil? Oh yes, he believed in that. And that its name was not Satan, but man. And there was something else he believed in. He believed in her.


He took a breath. He couldn't change what had happened, but it wasn't over yet. There was no way he was going to let this destroy her. "They want us this afternoon, Scully, first at the station, then at the bureau."


Marsh stiffened.  "She's injured, and I'm taking her to the hospital. I'll let you know when she's ready to be questioned." She couldn't believe it. Hadn't they done enough to her -- all of them? The bureau, expecting her to face these monsters again and again. The perpetrators --the insane and the profane -- and even the victims; all had claimed a piece of Dana's soul. When would it stop?


Scully put her hand on Marsh's arm, and squeezed lightly.  "I'll be there, Mulder."


"Scully," he said intently. "It was right."


She didn't answer.


He watched them walk away, his partner encircled by Marsh's protective embrace.  He knew what he was going to say when asked, without the slightest bit of uncertainty or remorse.  He only hoped that Scully would find a way to do the same.




"It wasn't Mulder's fault."


"Uh huh," Marsh responded automatically.  She picked up the syringe of lidocaine, and said, "Hold still.  This is going to sting."


Marsh slid the fine steel needle into the tender tissues of Scully's upper lip, injecting the local anesthesia. This she could do -- she could mend the tears, if not the deeper wounds. She didn't know how to begin to tend to her heart.


As soon as she could talk, Scully continued, "I knew something was wrong.  I could feel it.  From the very beginning, I felt like someone was trying to tell me something. But then I stopped listening." She blinked away tears. *Or maybe I just stopped believing*


Marsh poised with the suture in her hand. *Let her talk. It's what she needs* She set the instruments aside. "Who was trying to tell you something?"


"I thought at first it was God," Scully said very quietly.  And then she told her the rest, about the music, and the strange minister who knew things about her he should not know, and the man who seemed too monstrous to be human. About hunting him, and being hunted by him. Of what he did to her, and finally, of what she had done to him.


Marsh had pulled up a stool, and sat beside the narrow metal table upon which Scully lay.  She placed her hand gently in Scully's hair, her thumb stroking the soft wisps of red and gold along Scully's temple. "And now what you do think?"


"I don't have to think anything.  I know," Scully said flatly.  "I killed him. Mulder had his gun on him, had him subdued, and I executed him."


Scully looked at Marsh with eyes so wounded, so filled with torment, that Marsh wanted to lash out at everyone or anything that ever had, or ever would, harm her. Marsh loved her to the point of helplessness, and knew in that instant her utter powerlessness to protect her. Her impotence was choking her. She struggled to keep her voice even.


"Is there going to be a problem this afternoon?"


Scully shook her head. "Formality only. Everyone suspects something, but Mulder will back me."


Marsh drew closer. "And that's it?"


"Technically, yes," Scully murmured. "But I'll always know."


Marsh heard the anguish in her voice. "Maybe there are forces at work here you aren't meant to understand."


Scully turned her head, meeting Marsh's intense gaze. *You're always here for me, aren't you?*  For an instant she was comforted, and then she was standing in the living room again, cold steel in her hand. "Divine Providence?" she said bitterly. "I have killed, when I was forced to, but this - this was something different. I had a choice."


"Oh love," Marsh whispered. "Try to forgive yourself. You did what any one of us would have done. He was evil, in the worst ways that a human being can be.  He destroyed the lives of other human beings. Not just once, but many times, and he never would have stopped. Never. He threatened you in unimaginable ways, and what you did was justified. I can't believe that anyone, human or divine, would find you guilty."


Scully smiled faintly, because she knew that Marsh loved her. Just as Mulder did. Both of them were trying to convince her that she had not sinned. There were rationalizations, and explanations, and perhaps even justifications, but one phrase kept running through her mind.


Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord


They leaned close together, bodies touching, each with their separate pain. Marshall Black, wanting so desperately to provide Dana peace, fearing she could not. Special Agent Dana Scully, wishing she could pray, knowing she would not.


"I love you, Dana," Marsh whispered, having only that to offer.


Scully absorbed the words, knew the truth of it, and felt the beginnings of absolution.




DISCLAIMERS: The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner and others/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.



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