Games: Sudden Death Overtime
SUMMARY: Scully has a near brush with death, and only a moment's escape with a shadowy stranger brings healing.
Federal Bureau of Investigations
Returning to work was the easy part. It was something familiar, it gave structure and form to the days, it even gave purpose, if I allowed it, and didn't look too closely at it. Mulder was there, and he was familiar and dependable. He doesn't change much from day to day. His single-mindedness, his immutable tunnel vision, is one of the more comforting things about him. When you begin to ask yourself _ What's the point?_, you can simply look at Mulder, and there will be an answer. The point is to search for the answer. It doesn't matter so much what the answer is, as long as you continue to search. Obsessively, determinedly, unrelentingly -- to the exclusion of all else, so that emotional emptiness and personal isolation become meaningless. There is only the unraveling of tangled motivations and murky desires.
The problem was, it wasn't working anymore. Looking across the room at Mulder, I saw only an endless stretch of pointless days reflected back at me in his fanatical eyes. When the answers were known, would it make any difference to anyone? It certainly wouldn't bring Missy back, nor would it satisfy my family's wishes for me. It wouldn't keep me warm at night, nor even particularly satisfy me. I'm not sure knowing that I served the public good will actually fill the hunger at my core. I used to think it would, or more honestly, I only hoped it would. There is something about being dead, though, even for - thirty seconds, a minute - that alters your view of things.
The truth was, I was damn tired of thinking about it. I had been staring at the phone, toying with the idea of calling for the better part of my second morning back at the bureau. I think the bosses were trying to do me a favor by not working me too hard my first week back, because all I had to look forward to were a stack of interviews that needed to be checked for background discrepancies. Mulder was actually out doing legitimate work. AD Kersh had given him the incredibly challenging assignment of inspecting former missile silo installations that had been converted into underground storage facilities. For some reason Mulder found this exciting. I have a feeling he thought he might find aliens hidden there. Whatever his expectations, he had departed smiling for the airport six hours before. I, of course, had spent an hour assuring him that I would be fine without him, that I was completely recovered, and that I was ready, able, and willing to return to my duties. What I didn't tell him is that I had a persistent sense of disembodiment since I woke up in the hospital, and realized that I was still alive. They weren't kidding about that white light business. The problem was I had played that scene too damn many times. How many times, exactly, do you get to turn your back on it and scramble onto solid ground?
This was exactly what I did not want to be doing. I stared at the phone once again. What would I say? I needed company? That wasn't it, exactly. I could call my mother for that. What I needed, of course, was to _ feel _ alive. I _ knew _ that I was alive -- intellectually. Other people seemed to think I was alive, because they interacted with me in pretty much the same way they had previously. I had some experience with zombies, and I was quite sure that I wasn't one. The fact remained, however, that I felt like one. I was moving through time and space, arising at the same time, showering, driving to work, and actually performing my obligations in much the same way as I had before. I was watching myself doing these things. But I had yet to re-inhabit my body. I'm not trying to say I was floating somewhere watching this. I just had an eerie sense of no longer being Dana Scully. Dana Scully was there all right, but she wasn't me. And how exactly did I get the two of us back together again?
My hand was on the phone. It could've been a minute, it might have been hour. I watched my hand lift the receiver. My fingers pressed buttons and I listened to the dial tone, then ringing. A mechanical voice, similar to the one I heard emanating from my own body with regularity, informed me that no one was home but that my message was important. Saved. I could replace the receiver and forget the whole thing. Which is what I really wanted to do. Instead, I heard my voice say, "The Ritz-Carlton. 6 p.m.. Ask for me at the front desk."
Well. That was a first. But not the first time I thought about it.
Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Washington D.C.
She was many things, and prompt was one of them. There was a sharp rap on the door at precisely 6 p.m.. I had already showered, and washed and dried my hair. I was wearing one of those ridiculously expensive robes they leave in the bathrooms in hotels like this. There was a small sign attached to the sleeve telling me that for a mere 95 dollars, I can take it with me as a souvenir. A souvenir. Perhaps I would take something, but it wouldn't be this robe. When I opened the door, she was lounging indolently against the door jam. The corner of her mouth was lifted in a sardonic grin.
"You called?" she said with a hint of laughter. Her blue eyes, as sharp-edged as a scalpel, were serious.
I was assured that the ground rules still held. No strings, no attachments, no explanations. Where she came from, and where she went to when we parted, was still a mystery. A mystery easily solved had I wanted to. The fact was, I didn't. There is something too dangerous about the warmth of her nearness, about the softness of her skin against mine, about the comforting murmur of her voice as she drifted off to sleep after she came. I didn't want to know anything more about her than those things. What she might know about me, she never mentioned.
I had ordered wine, and an assortment of cheeses, fruits, and other light fair. I knew we would be ravenous at some point. Right now, that was not what I needed to feed my hunger.
I reached for her hand and drew her inside. She came willingly, and I could feel her assent to let me lead the way. I brought her to stand by the bed, and began to unbutton her shirt. I took my time, opening the package that contained a precious present. Despite the fact that I already knew what lay beneath, the excitement had not abated. She shivered slightly as my fingernails grazed over the swell of the inside of her breast. When I parted the material over her belly, I could see the peaks of her nipples pushing out the cotton material. They were erect already, and the memory of their yielding firmness between my lips brought a flood of arousal trailing down my thigh. I circled her navel with my index finger, marveling at the flickering muscles beneath the skin. Wordlessly, she moved her legs apart, beckoning me lower. I knew damn well what she wanted, because I wanted it too. I wanted her fingers on my hard clit. I wanted her to stroke the wetness from between my swollen lips up the sides of the stiff shaft, over the tense hood, and down again. I wanted her to finger me to the point of explosion, and then back away, leaving me breathless, and aching, and wanting so desperately for it to end. I knew exactly what she wanted, and _ I _ wanted her to want it more.
I slipped the shirt down off her shoulders and opened my mouth to inhale a nipple. I used my tongue to move it back and forth, beating it gently with the soft stiffness.
"Uh huh," she murmured softly.
I had to stifle my urge to bite down. She wasn't ready for that yet, and as much as I wanted to feel the spongy hardness yielding to my teeth, pain was not my objective. I wanted to torture her, but I had no intention of hurting her. I continued to suck, first one then the other, my hands drifting down to her jeans. I worked the buttons free and slowly drew them down over her slender hips until she could step free. I glanced down once, briefly, and saw the golden strands wet with arousal. I could smell her desire. Sharp, tangy, rising hotly to call me to her. Her round buttocks clenched as I grasped them, pulling her closer, running my tongue down the middle of her belly, piercing her navel, then drifting lower to suck the hollow inside her hip bone. Her hands were in my hair, moving my face against her skin. I could feel the tremor in her arms as she silently urged me down. Her hips were rocking now as her legs spread further. She was shameless in her wanting, in her need, and her urgency inflamed me. My clit twitched steadily between my legs, and I wanted her mouth on it so badly. Thirty seconds, maybe a minute. I might make it that long if she put her warm soft lips around my clit. If she licked the underside of the throbbing base, I might hold out that long. If she pushed her tongue up under the hood and stroked back and forth over the tip, I might make it. Thirty seconds, a minute. But I was ready, I was so ready.
I pulled her back a few steps so that I could sit on the edge of the bed. I lowered my head and parted the hair between her legs with my tongue. I didn't need to search very far. Her clit was erect, bright red, and standing out from the sheath. Clear glistening cum gathered on the fine down covering her lips. With the very tip of my tongue, I touched her clit. Just a brief glance and then away. Her whole body jerked, and a strangled cry escaped her lips. *beautiful*
Again - against the head - and yet again. Never for more than a fleeting instant. Each time, she twitched and moaned. Thirty seconds, a minute?
A single word. A volume. I had no reason to deny her. Not when she had come so willingly to answer my need. Opening my lips I sucked gently and took all of her. I felt her in every cell, infusing every fiber of my being with power and infinite tenderness. As I drew her in and out, her hips rocking to me, I saw the light surround us and then retreat. This was real, this was life. I slipped my thumb inside her, and cupped her ass in the palm of my hand. I pressed backward against the muscles that surrounded me, and began to lick her. I moved in and out with the same cadence as the strokes of my tongue. Thirty seconds, a minute.
"You're going to make me come."
Oh yes. My heart raced, I shifted on the bed, tightening my thighs as my clit began to spasm in time with hers. I won't come this way, but I will get close. As her nerve endings flared, and her muscles contracted, and her breath tore from her body on the piercing waves of her orgasm, I felt the answering surges to the depth of my being. I felt her knees begin to buckle and I wrapped both arms around her thighs. I pulled her tight against my face and held her up with the strength of my passion. I would never let her fall.
I held her until her trembling subsided, and then pushed myself back against the pillows. I opened the robe and spread my legs, watching her face as she watched me. She was flushed and sweating, and when she brought her eyes to mine, they were still unfocused with the last remnants of her pleasure. I grasped her hand and drew her down to my side. I brought her fingers to my wetness. She watched my face as I led her inside of me. When her thumb brushed my clit, I nearly came.
Thirty seconds, a minute.
I closed my eyes, and let her heal me.
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.