Title: Not Yours Author: SueBee E-mail Address: SueBeePhile@aol.com Rating: PG for adult themes Archive: Yes to Spooky's, Gossamer, and anyone else who might want it. If possible, drop me a line and let me know where it is going. Classification: MSR, UST, Scully POV, and a strong dose of A Spoilers: Irresistible and Orison Summary: Scully reclaims her life, all of it. Disclaimer: I don't get paid for this. Don't sue me. Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They belong to CC, 1013 Productions, and Fox--at least most of the time. Feedback: Yes, please. I love it! Author's Notes: Thanks to Cal and Melly for beta reading. Thanks to Selynne for constructing such a wonderful website. You can find this fic, as well as my other stories, at my personal fanfiction site: SueBee's X-Files Fanfiction http://www.crosswinds.net/~suebeephile/ *************************************************************** I can hear you outside the door. You're pacing again. You are gathering up my guilt, my pain, and my sins, and you're pocketing them as if they were your own. With each footfall and glance at the door, you are extracting the blame and laying it on yourself. This isn't about you---none of it. My sins belong to me. I'm sure the guilt will wash over me after the shock wears off, but I'll accept that too. I had a choice. It was him or me. He chose me so I returned the favor. I killed him. We can rationalize the how's and why's later. He wanted to take my life, but it wasn't his. It's mine. That goes for you too. It's mine. I'm not standing in here because I'm a tearful mess. No tears will come. I'm on this side of the door because there is only one face I want to see right now. The image in the mirror is battered but by no means beaten. I can look myself in the eye, and that is the one testament that snuffs out the doubts. He was evil. I'm half-surprised to see that I am still in my pajamas. The dried blood has stiffened and thickened the material into an offending itchiness. I strip myself bare and wad the fabric into the waste basket. I'd burn it if I were prone to melodrama. Something, though, tells me that you'll do it for me later. Your bathroom door doesn't have a lock. Even so, closing it was enough to keep you on your side. With everything that has been taken from me and all that you try to bear for me, you grant me my privacy. You leave me alone, but I know that you strain for the simplest sound that can be construed as an invitation to enter. You want to save me. I tried to save myself. I study your tub and wonder if you have ever taken a bath in it. Even if you never have, I will. The desire to be clean overwhelms the fear I should have of baths. Pfaster is in the city morgue. He isn't coming back this time. The roar of the hot water beating into the porcelain drowns out the soft thuds of your circular march. I can't hear you, but I know you haven't stopped. You are waiting for me to say something, anything. Not yet. You have no bubbles, no bath oils, no frills. Fine by me. I drop into the water and let the steamy liquid envelop me. I soak for a moment before I see the clear water turn a slightly washed out, reddish hue from the blood on my skin ---mine and his. The last vestiges of Donnie Pfaster are caked underneath my fingernails. I scrub at them once, twice, over and over again, but they won't come clean. Panic rises in my throat as I frantically think that I have been permanently, visibly stained by my sins. I need help. I need you. "Mulder?" My voice is a raspy whisper but I know you hear me. You open the door immediately but keep your gaze averted. You knew I would be naked. Your soft voice sounds almost pained. "Scully?" I thought I could do this on my own, but it isn't working. I need to be clean. "Mulder, I can't get clean. Help me get clean." You take a few halting steps toward the tub but turn toward the sink and open the medicine cabinet. You take out a nail brush like the one I use after an autopsy. The crimson arcs under my nails stand out starkly against my pale skin. It is a sight I have seen many times before, but this blood comes from wounds I've caused. You don't even attempt to hand the brush to me. You need to help me as much as I need to be helped. We both stare at my hands as you lift one into your palm. You carefully scrub at each fingernail until the filth underneath has been cleansed away. I watch you as you return one hand and retrieve the other. You are concentrating so much on your task that it doesn't occur to me to cover my breasts. It's too late now, and I'm too tired to be modest. With the other hand scrubbed clean, you place it back in the water. You pause momentarily as you stare at the wall in front of you. I watch you and wait. "Scully, do you trust me?" You know I do. "Yes." You turn toward me and look me in the eye. "I know you are strong. I know you can do anything on your own, but just for tonight, let me take over the rest." I want to put up a fight and tell you that I'm fine, but I'm not feeling fine anymore. I'm not feeling anything but fatigue. I hand the wash cloth to you and close my eyes again. If I don't see you, then maybe you won't see me. I feel your hand dip into the water when the wash cloth gently grazes my thigh. I unconsciously flinch a bit and you remove it immediately. Your mouth is close to my ear as you reassure me. "I'm not going to hurt you, Scully. I'll tell you exactly what I am doing so I won't startle you from now on. I'm going to start washing your arms now. Try to relax for me." You take my hand again, and I feel the sudsy, wet heat from the wash cloth ease up my wrist to my elbow. That wasn't so bad. I open my eyes and see you looking at me. Your gaze still hasn't moved lower than my face. Reassured, I close my eyes again. You place my soapy arm in the water and move to cleanse the other one. Finished with that task, you lean in again and whisper, "I need you to move forward so I can get your back. Is that okay?" I lean forward in response and let my breasts rest on my knees. The water swirls down my back in rivulets as you stroke the cloth against my neck and over my shoulders. I hear nothing but the water splashing and your hushed breathing. I feel the tension leaving me with my former panic. I don't think anyone has washed my back for me since I was a child. The cloth is being pushed in small circles down my skin, leaving a sudsy trail. You move as close as the water line and return to the middle of my back and then up to my shoulders again. Only then do I realize that I wanted you to keep going. I feel guilty at the thought of deriving pleasure from this after what I have done today. I feel worse when I remind myself that I am getting aroused by an act of kindness. I know you would never take advantage of me after today's traumatic experience. You would do nothing out of line. The cloth sweeps down my back again and I bite my lip in an effort not to ask you to just cross the damn line. Would you cross it, or would you brush my request off as a reaction to shock and stress? Your hand dips beneath the water again to rinse my back. Each swipe of the cloth renews me. You remove your hand and wait. I feel the uncertainty radiate from you. You have run out of safe places. So have I. Keeping my eyes closed, I recline in the bathtub. I inch down enough to get my hair wet and then to push it out of my face as I ascend from the water. Your voice waivers a bit as you inform me of your next move. "Scully, you have blood in your hair. I need to wash it. I'll try to make it quick." Ironically, Pfaster's touching my hair represented the grossest act of perversion, but your washing it is a welcomed blessing. I try to reassure you. I open my eyes and take your hand. "It's okay, Mulder. I trust you." You give me an apologetic smile and grab the shampoo. I can't see the brand, but it smells of coconuts and warm tropical scents. It smells like you. That is even more comforting. Your fingers move quickly to work up a lather and then more slowly and delicately as you massage my scalp, searching for cuts and bumps. I wince when you reach the back of my head. You pull away when you feel the lump. Your eyes look so sad. "I hit my head...a few times." Anger flashes across your face for a second, only to be replaced with apologetic sorrow. You quickly look away and then back at me. "Let's rinse your hair, Scully." You look down at the murky water with distaste. "I have always been more of a shower man, myself. What if I drain this water and start the shower for you? I'll get you a towel and let you finish up." You turn away in an effort to leave. "Mulder?" My voice sounds thick with fatigue and awareness. You stop but don't turn around. I dip my head in an effort to rinse what shampoo I can and then I stand up. "I don't want to be alone, not anymore." You place your hands on your hips and breathe in deeply. "Scully, I'm not leaving you alone. I'll be right outside. You'll feel better after a shower." I feel no more shame. "Mulder, look at me." You half turn your head and then turn back toward the door. "Scully, you've had a rough night. I'll get that towel. And I'm sure I have an old Knicks T-shirt around here somewhere." You walk a few steps more before I stop you again. "Mulder, I know what I'm doing. This isn't about stress, or fear, or guilt. I took back my life tonight. Now I want to live it." You turn around, looking confused, until your eyes meet mine. You see it. You know I'm in love with you, and wanting you has always been a part of that. "I can't take advantage of you, Scully. Not like this. You'll hate me and yourself tomorrow." I am not deterred. "How many tomorrows will we wait for? How much closer do we need to get to death before we do something about..." I'm at a loss for a term to describe our relationship. I softly finish up with "...us." My skin is growing cold as the water slips off my body but I will not be denied. Not any more. I am rewarded when your gaze slips past my face. Your look of want and need belies your words. This is right. "Scully...please. Don't do this to me. I'm trying not to...I'm trying to be a gentleman." My skin starts to warm as your eyes stay focused on my body. Your gaze meets mine in a tormented request. "I haven't done anything to you, Mulder. Not yet." I turn the shower on and start to close the curtain. Your expression is a mixture of relief and disappointment. You still haven't moved. I feel the hot spray of water wash over me as I rinse the remains of the day from my body. I feel cleaner for having rid myself of any evidence of what happened and for finally admitting how I feel. I lean into the water and wait for you. Seconds pass before I close my eyes and start to feel numb again. Your hand on my back startles me. I turn around and you push the wet hair away from my face. I don't bother feigning politeness. I look down. Your naked body is mere inches from mine. "Scully, if we do this tonight, will there be a tomorrow? You are everything to me, and I can't, I won't lose you. Tell me to stop." I try to bridge the distance. "Don't stop." Your hands move to my shoulders. I lay my head against your chest and let the water run over us and between us. Your arms close around me fiercely. I can feel the heat of your wet skin pressed against mine, and it is almost my undoing. "Don't stop, Mulder." Your lips meet mine, and my breath is stolen when you deepen the kiss. The feel of the cold wall against my back startles me, and I break free. You immediately try to move away but I won't let you. Your hands are shaking. "The wall's cold, Mulder. That's all." You give me an embarrassed half smile and turn off the water. "Let's get out of here, Scully." You wrap a towel around me and lead me toward the edge of the bed. You face me and hesitate. I see the longing in your eyes. The intensity in your gaze bares your soul to me. You love me. I see it so clearly now that I don't know how I missed it before. We are so close that we are almost touching. "Please, don't stop now, Mulder." Instead of kissing me, you wrap your arms around me and hug me. I can hear your heart thudding in your chest. "I have to stop, Scully. Tonight is not the night for this. Whether you believe it or not, we will have tomorrow, but this night is not ours. You deserve better. We deserve better." I pull the towel closer around me and slump bonelessly onto the bed. You kneel before me and take my hands in yours. I force myself to look at you. "I want you. God, you have no idea how much I want you, Scully, but this isn't what you need." I straighten up a bit. "How do you know what I need?" You smile warmly and respond, "Because I know you. I know that if you stayed horizontal on that bed for longer than five minutes, you would be out like a light. You're tired, Scully. You need to rest. Let me take care of you for once." I stifle a yawn. "I hate it when you're right. Did you know that?" This remark earns me a grin. "I knew that too, Scully." I roll my eyes and try to smile. "So, Mulder, where's that Knicks T-shirt?" You squeeze my hand and start searching through your dresser drawers. I curl up in bed and watch you hold up a blue T-shirt triumphantly. I'm really getting sleepy now. My eyelids feel as if they have been dipped in concrete. I concede and let you slip the shirt over my head and tuck me in. You slide in next to me and hold me close. I wrap my arms around your stomach and rest my head on your chest. The rhythmic sound of your heart beating lulls me further into restfulness. I can hear you whisper, "I love you, Scully." I don't know if my response is coherent or mumbled, but I love you too. My last thought as I drift off is this: My guilt, my pain, and my sins are mine. My love is yours, Mulder. The End More Author's Notes: Some of you may have been expecting some RST here. I tried, but it just didn't fit with the story. Not to worry, there's always next time.......