Title: Sfumato (10/? - Sequel to "The Marionette Rebellion") Author: supernova Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue. Rating: R Category: MSR, Angst-O-Rama Archive: Yes, to MFEO, which can be found here: http://xf_mfeo.tripod.com. Many thanks to Kat for creating a home for all my stories, which can be found here: http://www.angelfire.com/ms/KtblleStorage/main.html. Feedback: Feed me at supernova818@aol.com Author's Notes: Many thanks to Beach - for everything, including, but not limited to, being a fantastic beta. I think I've got the best beta around, and on top of that, she's a good friend. Hugs to ya, Beachy. Snick, you're the minkey of the lights, and I thank you for sharing your crazy theories about said lights with me. I feel very, um, enlightened. Heh. Love ya. --------------- Sfumato ---------- Chapter 9 --------------- She had known he was smiling. The children were fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of sugarplums and Santa, in bed early for the following day's festivities. The night finally belonged to them. Empty wine glasses had been abandoned on the nightstand, the only light in their airy bedroom was what managed to slither through delicate lace curtains. His hand rested on her knee and then without warning or permission began traveling northward. She was under him, and he liked it that way, because it felt like possession. There were so few times he could truly possess her. She knew he liked the feeling, so she let him have his secrets, just as she had hers. Her nails clawed down his back until her hands traveled up and over the curve of his ass. She took hold and pulled him toward her. He came willingly, but then again, he always had. His kisses tasted earthy, like a vineyard hundreds of years old, and his back was damp. A drop of perspiration trickled off the tip of his nose onto the valley between her breasts. His mouth left a wet trail from her cheek to her breasts in order to lap it up. Sliding into her was as effortless as loving her. He'd told her that and she'd felt undone. 'Only you,' he'd said. Those words had given her a sense of belonging, and she has never forgotten the way his breath puffed against her cheek, or the way she tingled to the tips of her toes upon his admission. He'd pounded into her until he was spent and sated, then trapped her with the weight of his own body, and she let him. Strong arms surrounded her, held her, and loved her. A whisper in her ear, 'How much I love you - it should be a sin,' he'd said forcefully, passionately. Intense, he'd always been so intense with her, almost desperate. 'Promise me forever?' he'd asked, as he lay on top of her. 'Forever,' she'd said, without a moment's hesitation. Her answer was always the same. A smile had illuminated his face. He possessed her and she surrendered. In the bedroom, things were often simple, and reality always seemed farther away than it was. It isn't pain, not really, but her heart feels it and her head knows what is happening. That makes it hurt just enough that she whimpers, and then with self-control refined over a lifetime, she stifles the built-up rage inside her body. Screaming is not an option, so she grits her teeth, and tries to think about Mulder. She tries to maintain her focus on last Christmas, and one intoxicating night filled with Merlot and lovemaking, but the ache of the situation is too distracting, and reality is a lightning rod of pain up her spine. She wishes Mulder were here. He can't be, though, not now. Scully stares at the ceiling until it blurs, and then she realizes she is crying, the tears pooling behind her earlobes. Someone hands her a tissue. She dabs at her face and clenches the tissue in her hand. Not knowing what else to do, she continues to stare at the ceiling, and tries to connect with Mulder telepathically. She begs him to come to her, rescue her, tell her everything will be fine. He doesn't come and she reminds herself, as the pain lessens, that she never believed in telepathy anyway. She wanted to, though, just this one time. Okay, so maybe there have been a few times over the years, she's wanted to believe. The bruises on her face are fading, she thinks to herself, and then rubs her jaw with her knuckles. Shadows are all that remain, so much so that if you passed her by, you'd have to look twice to be sure of what you thought you saw. Battered woman - car accident - attempted purse snatching. People mumble and speculate, but none of them are right, because no one says - global conspiracy to prevent aliens from colonizing planet because human co-conspirators were stupid and have been double-crossed and now want to survive no matter what the cost. She wonders if it was Paul's first or final blow, if it was Mother Nature, stress, or the unending tests she was forced to endure. She had begged them to stop, pleaded with them to let her go, screamed that she be spared, at least for a little while. She had told them the fetus was too small, that it would cause her pregnancy to become unstable. They didn't care, though, they just wanted their samples, and their cure, and an assurance of survival regardless of what was to come. Her baby was an added bonus, a bonus that in their minds was expendable, as long as they got what they wanted. Cells, blood, and amniotic fluid were as good as a full-term baby with less fuss. That's what the gray-haired man had said as Scully had been tied to a table and had a needle inserted into her abdomen. As the needle pierced her barely swollen stomach, she'd laid still, hoping her little baby was tucked up in a corner of its safe place. One night without protection was insanity for a forty-five year old woman and a forty-eight year old man, but they'd been buzzed and happy. They'd always been a step behind the norm. Scully said it was okay, and Mulder had said, "If it's meant to be, it will be." They were having a mid-life crisis together, and instead of having plastic surgery and buying blondes and red sports cars, they were trying to make a baby. It was now or never again. They loved both their children - William was a miracle and Hope was an unexpected blessing - but this child was to be a child of choice. It didn't happen, and most days, it was a repressed want. Tubal ligation, a vasectomy, permanent sterilization, all loomed in the distance, age having reared its head and declared Mulder and Scully past the point of having another child. Or not. It wasn't meant to be that December, but the following October, another Scully-Mulder miracle had been conceived. Scully is fairly certain the conception fell on Mulder's birthday, after a bottle of Bordeaux, between the sheets, and somewhere around when Mulder whispered hard in her ear, "God, Scully, do I have to wear a condom tonight? This feels so fucking good, baby." They'd abandoned birth control pills after Hope was conceived, and so in the heat of passion, Mulder hadn't worn a condom, and they'd conceived one final miracle. She's glad it was she and not Dara on that night; she feels nauseous at the thought. Scully pushes thoughts of Dara out of her mind, grips the thin hospital gown in her fists, squeezes her eyes shut, and mourns for a miracle lost. She wants nothing more than to fall into Mulder's arms, whisper her sorrow, and have him kiss away her pain. Guilt settles deep in her belly, where her baby should be, and fills all the empty spaces. She hates herself for not being able to sustain the life inside of her. Guilt seeps from her pores, burns her skin, makes her hate surviving Them when her child could not. After checking into a motel, she lies on a lumpy bed, and curls up in a fetal position. She's cold but she's sweating, her brain feels swollen and tired, and her eyes close of their own accord. Weak is how she feels, in every way possible, made even worse when a twinge of pain causes her body to shake violently and all she can do is call out to him. -X- "This isn't helping, Mulder," Skinner says. He's been trying to calm down Mulder, to no avail. "You're damn right this isn't helping; nothing is helping me right now," Mulder answers. "I don't understand this! Why now? Why, after all this time? Everything was fine," he stammers out, and continues pacing the length of the kitchen. "I don't know, Mulder. It does stand to reason that she left of her own accord, though, seeing as there was no forcible entry, and no sign of a struggle," Skinner reminds him. "No one has seen her, and the PD told me the warehouse is still empty," Mulder says, slamming down the phone. "She's simply vanished. Again," he finishes. "I can't leave because I'm left wondering if this is a trap to get to the kids, but I should be out there, looking for her," Mulder pauses, wants to scream and bleed himself of his helplessness, his frustration. William and Hope sit on the stairs and listen to their father and Skinner volley reasons back and forth. Reasons as to why their mother is gone without a trace. Hope sniffles and curls into a ball. William has rarely had a negative thought about his mother, but at this moment, he almost hates her. He hates that his heart feels like it's going to explode, and that his stomach is threatening to show him his dinner from a few hours ago. That thought breaks him, and he begins to cry as well, right there on the stairs beside his baby sister. It isn't long before Mulder rounds the corner and sees them sitting there. "What are you doing? I thought I told you to go upstairs and get ready for bed! You shouldn't have been listening to my conversation with Skinner," Mulder shouts. He is angry - angry that Scully was kidnapped, angry that Dara took her place, angry that Scully was hurt so badly, angry that his children are in danger, and angry that Scully is gone again. "I'm sorry kids," he says, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He turns around and clears the antique Victorian buffet that stands in the hall between the kitchen and the staircase. The piece itself had been a gift from Mulder to Scully after he'd seen her eyeing it in an antique shop. A lamp hits the floor and shatters. William and Hope jump and Hope cries out. They run to their father when he opens his arms to them. "I'm so sorry," he intones. "I'm so sorry." -X- Morning light rests its sharp, blue fingers on all three of them. She stands in the doorway, watching, taking them in. William is hugging the right side, Mulder is in the middle, and Hope is curled up beside Daddy, her head resting on his arm. Exhaustion is etched on their faces, a familiar crease mars each brow, fear is their shared blanket. "Mulder," she whispers, as she leans over Hope, and brushes Mulder's face with the tips of her fingers. Suddenly, he is wide-eyed, sitting bolt upright in bed, and his fingers are digging painfully into her biceps. "Who the hell are you?" he asks. Hope and William awaken equally wide-eyed, and glance back and forth from mother to father, confusion and apprehension digging into all the innocent places it shouldn't be. "Skinner!" Mulder yells. Scully flinches and steps back. "Mom?" William says, looking at her face. Blue eyes much like her own travel from her face to her stomach. A fleeting glance passes between mother and son and she shakes her head in the negative. He knows her secret is no more, and tears threaten to spill over onto his cheeks, but he gets out of bed and goes to his own room before she knows whether they do or not. "Mommy?" Hope cries, and then flings herself into Scully's waiting arms. Mulder pulls Hope back into his own embrace, and continues to hold Scully by the arm none too gently. Skinner enters the bedroom with his gun in hand. He takes one look at Scully, then looks at Mulder, an eyebrow raised in question. "Watch the kids for a little bit," Mulder says. "You're coming with me," he nods to Scully, squeezes her arm even tighter, and drags her out of the bedroom. "You're hurting me," Scully says evenly. "If you aren't Scully, I'll know soon enough, and I won't care if I'm hurting you. If you are Scully, I'll know soon enough, and," his grip lessens, and he leaves the rest of the sentence unfinished. After leading Scully down the stairs, Mulder corners her against a wall, and parts the hair behind her ear. A thin blue line stands out at her hairline. "Scully, what are you doing to me? Where have you been?" he asks. Scully is trapped between his arms, and his head thuds against the wall, as she tries to formulate a lie that will pass for truth. "I just needed some time to myself," she answers. "You could have left a note, or called me. We've been worried, Scully. The kids were scared to death, and I have been a complete bastard to everyone since yesterday morning, when I woke up alone," Mulder retorts. "I'm sorry-" "Did I hurt you? Oh God, did I hurt you? I'm so sorry, Scully. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I think I'm finally losing my fucking mind," Mulder says. His words reverberate off the wall. "I'm fine," Scully answers. "Are you sure?" Mulder asks. Hands cup her head, auburn- gold hair spills through his fingers, sweat beads on his upper lip. "God, I was scared I wouldn't get you back this time. Don't ever fucking do that to me again," he says, staring into her eyes. His lips descend on hers. Before she can say yes or no or don't stop, his tongue enters her mouth, and she yields to its gentle exploration. Its feel is soft, apprehensive, and fulfilling. Her tongue pushes back, touches his, and there is rediscovery in the slow seduction of soft mouths, wet lips, souls that are aching and soothed in the same moment. One hand travels to her hip to pull her against him, and in his passion, her belly is slammed hard against his body. Her muffled cry is lost in his mouth. It could be the baby, or the guilt, or the shame at everything she's been through, everything she's lost. Regardless, her belly is on fire, and she bends slightly to relieve the pain. "You okay, Scully?" Mulder asks. Unable to catch her breath, incapable of speech, Scully nods. Mulder looks perplexed and then reads her ending their kiss as regret for it happening. A mumbled "damn" escapes his lips, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then turns the corner and climbs the stairs. The sound of footsteps stops on number seven, and then the sound begins again, only this time, in descent. He walks right up to her, turns her head as gently as he can, and kisses the mark he put on her not so long ago. "I love you, and I won't be made to feel guilty for wanting to show you. If you're angry about Dara, then tell me, or scream at me, or whatever it is that will make you feel better. Don't leave, though. Don't shut me out and scare the shit out of the kids and me. Skinner is going to stay with you and the kids today, and I'm going to go and check out the warehouse where you were being held. I want to get to the bottom of this, find out who is on our trail, and figure out a way to solve the problem so we can go on with our lives," he says. "I'll go with you to the warehouse." "Absolutely not, Scully. You are going to stay here with Skinner, and I am going to check out the warehouse. I also need to check in with Randy at the station. Agent Browning mentioned they had some information. You stay here today, and rest, and when I come home tonight, we'll sit down and go over everything," Mulder says. "If that's what you want," Scully murmurs. "What I want is for you to stop lying to me about what has happened to you, Scully. I am a trained psychologist, in case you've forgotten. I may not be able to decipher your symptomatic behavior to its rightful conclusion as far as details are concerned, but I know more happened to you than you're letting on. Hell, I could tell that by the marks all over your body, and those are nothing compared to the look in your eyes. You're good at hiding from me, hiding your pain, and I accepted that a long time ago, as frustrating as it is. When you're ready, I'm here, until then, I'll be waiting." With that, Mulder turns around, and climbs the stairs. Scully hears him assure Skinner she is who she says she is, and then she makes her way to the kitchen. She pours herself a cup of coffee, the fix of caffeine is immediate, and the warm drink tastes good after having to go without it for so long. She feels a little lightheaded, feels a little lost. She wants to feel Mulder so desperately, yet she can't allow him inside, so she shuts down and retreats to a far off place, where she is lost, without a map, or a compass, or a star to guide her. The bay window is a portal to the outside world, made vivid by the light, bright and promising. Her fingers slide down the cool windowpane, and her eyes squint against the sun, as she searches for a way home. Continued in Chapter 10