From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 8 Feb 2002 20:10:27 -0000 Subject: NEW "Then I Carried You" (1/1) by redsky Source: direct Reply To: redsky2327@yahoo.co.uk "Then I Carried You" (1/1) Author: Redsky Email: redsky2327@yahoo.co.uk Archive: Anyplace, just let me know. Thanks! Category: V, MSR Rating: G Spoilers: Requiem, Anasazi/Blessing way/Paper Clip, Orison Keywords: Post Requiem, MSR Summary: Shortly after Mulder's abduction, a sleeping Scully is watched over. I watched sleep tempt her. Her sobbing breaths were a stormy sea exhausting itself into gentle waves lapping the shore in a steady rhythm of hushed sighs. The tide of unconsciousness washed over her, gently drifting her away into the peaceful darkness of sleep. Though her body, curled and knotted, showed no sign of relaxing, the tears she had shed seemed to have eroded the hard lines and sharp edges of her face, leaving shiny round cheeks of stained glass. I began to sense the fear and worry being chased from her body and I felt the synthesis in myself. The tension ebbed away and with every moment that passed, every breath that she was closer to oblivion, relief coursed through me. When you have cared for someone for so long each thorn of pain that pricks their life hurts you just as much. It's the very nature of unconditional love, to love someone so much you share their every tear, feel their every hurt as if it were your own. Something she would learn more about in a few months time. I should have been used to it. It wasn't the first time I'd seen her cry herself to sleep and I knew it wouldn't be the last. The pillows she buried her face in did more than cushion her head. The down inside was mixed with the tears and emotions of a thousand days when night couldn't come fast enough for her; when she would ache for them to cradle her head and heart, like a mother's bosom, softening the blow of the hardships of the day. They were silent priests listening to her sins, her frustrations, her anger. Here she didn't have to explain or defend, just tell her story to the pillows with her tears, let them muffle and smother the emotions, and she would be absolved. Over the years this bed had become her only sanctuary, a crisp cotton island that kept the rest of the world at bay. I know how hard she fought to keep that mask of control on for the world, but when she slipped between the sheets - the rustling linen the only voice in her head - the mask would fall, and she was vulnerable again. That was why I came to her then. Even Donnie Pfaster, who tore down her walls of empowerment and security, never penetrated this place. Through the chaos and terror raining around it the bed had stayed perfect, untouched by his evil. It had sheltered her from him, but it couldn't protect her enough. I was worried about her then. I felt her guilt and fear, feelings I didn't think this sanctuary could ever ease. I even doubted she could ever find the same peace here again, but somehow thetranquillity of this spot had expanded into the whole room, and I knew now it offered the same respite it always had. She had fallen asleep fully clothed, out of exhaustion and I'm sure a niggling need to be ready to go wherever she needed to should that phone call come. The black suit twisted around her like a straight jacket. I looked down and wondered if I should remove the pumps from her feet - such a small gesture that could bring such comfort to a sleeping form. She so often wore ridiculously uncomfortable footwear; her tiny feet were covered in more scars and blisters than the rest of her body. I think she liked it that way. It was her feet that bore the brunt of her everyday pain. They suffered when she slipped into stack heels that gave her the height and confidence to face her superiors on equal ground. They blistered and ached when she pounded them against concrete and rocks, chasing answers and perpetrators in woefully thin soled boots. But somehow that was okay; it was worth it. The footwear she wore was her little luxury, the something extra that made up for her gender and lack in stature. The boost it gave her was worth a little pain. Besides it was hidden pain, scars that no-one could see. And that was fitting for her, for someone who hid so much of her pain. Those tiny feet had paid the price the last time he'd vanished. She'd walked miles in pumps that rubbed her heels and squashed her toes, deepening the pain with every step. But then that was really what she wanted. It was her punishment for not saying what she'd meant to, for giving in, for not finding him. And the pain emanating from her throbbing feet was easier to think about that the pain everywhere else. This time, though, she'd need more; more to mask the pain; more than a mother's arms to comfort her; more than a sister's words to reassure and guide her. Melissa always knew the emotions that Dana hid, and she knew how to prod and push till Dana confronted them. She was the opposite to her sister in so many ways, never afraid to explore every spark of emotion that coursed through her, or reach out for any avenue that could help her understand and revel in them. She was like Mulder in that way, and I think that was why Dana had sought her out the last time. Somehow Melissa had helped fill the void that was left when he was apart from her. When she spoke to Melissa it was like hearing Mulder answer her, instead of the echoing one-sided conversations that were filling her mind. But Melissa was out of her reach now, and that was why I needed to be close. I eased her feet out of the stiff leather and in her sleep she sighed and rubbed her bare feet together gently. I wondered if she was remembering a hotel room in Oregon when he'd done the same simple gesture for her. The way he'd immediately turned down the bed and removed her shoes without a second's thought or prompting, her comfort the only thing on his mind, had clearly demonstrated his love for her. It was as if he'd been caring for her all his life. I'd witnessed it myself, the care he took over her. Not when they were working. There she was always Agent Scully - strong enough to take down the whole of the FBI with her sheer will power, and skin so thick she never felt the icy chill that seemed to blow from the bureau whenever she said "Basement, please." No, only when he thought no-one was looking did he put on the kid gloves. But I'd seen it. I'd seen confident Agent Mulder who broke through barriers and red tape before you could blink become all manners and reserve, like a hero in an old English novel, waiting for this woman to show her approval, set the pace and place the limits. It was always "please" and "thank you", as if she was favouring him with her presence. If I knew her at all, I bet it irritated her no end at times that he was always checking and questioning. Was this what she wanted? Was she sure? She knows her own mind, she knows what she needs, and that night in Oregon so had he. No questioning then, no hesitation, he moved like a well-oiled machine whose only design was for the comfort and pleasure of Dana Scully. And she'd thanked him for it, but she wasn't sure he knew how much she was thanking him for. My mind was drawn back to this bed in her home as she rolled over, her jacket popping open in the process. The white sheet was caught around her fists, twisted and balled across the bed it looked like sheets of paper that an author has crumpled and thrown aside when the plot isn't going the way he planned. It was only a heartbeat ago that the life she envisioned stretching out in front of her had been completely rewritten. When her head had spun and tumbled and flashed, and her knees gave way, he wasn't there to catch her. It wasn't his arms that rushed to cradle her this time - the time she needed him most. The hospital bed, and now her own, were no substitute for the serenity and security she left nestled in the crook of his arm, with his breath teasing her hair, and his heartbeat playing against her back. I felt it with each contented sigh that had escaped her lips every minute she slept warmed from the heat of his body. On those nights his body had draped around hers, I felt the expansion of her heart and I knew she didn't need me. I was free to soar, rejoicing in her happiness and love. Now there was another heartbeat small and fragile fluttering in her body, if he was here to share it her joy would be unmetered. But there was no warm rough hand resting on her abdomen, and it would be a long time, innumerable nights like this, before he would return. Until he did, it was only in this room she could share the uncertainty and excitement she felt at the idea of this new life inside her. She had to keep it secret, as secret as the fear and vulnerability I saw in her. And each night I would silently listen and share her secret. She was too proud to ask for help during the day, only at night would she let me in. Only when she was asleep did I know she'd hear me, as I tried to feed her the strength and reassurance she needed to get her through another day of masks and lies and loneliness. When her eyes were closed her heart was open, and I would slip in and repair the damage from the day before. But it wasn't always easy, even in unconsciousness her head battled with logic and truth, warning her to never let her guard down, shining spotlights on the darkest fears in her mind. The blue light of day seeping through the window began to wrestle the yellow lamplight for control of the room. Soon she would wake and I would be banished. Her face was beginning to ripple; folds appeared in her forehead, her mouth gaped and closed. Words she wanted to say, was afraid to say, hovered on her lips but dispersed, leaving her mouth gaping silently. It was time. The nightmares were here again, visions of horror and hopelessness would swirl around her mind, tearing apart everything we worked so hard to keep together. She needed her sleep, needed the peace we could bring her. It was time for me to step in. I lay down and wrapped my wings around her, gently taking the weight of her body in their feathers, whispering my lullaby into her ear. The voices of the others around her bed joined in lilting and sighing until a crescendo of angel voices mourned and celebrating with every note of love. We are near. We are near. The words filled the room with the dawn light, settling on her face and resting in her heart, sustaining her for another day closer to Mulder's return. And the next night I would be the watcher of her heart again. My wings would protect her and encase her with love, until the night she would return to her home - in the folds of his arms. Author's note: This story was inspired by Mark Snow's description of "Scully's theme", that the vocalist sounded like she was singing "We are near". Title is taken from "Footprints", author unknown. Thanks to Kate for always and everything. And I promise next time I will listen to your great advice, betas. :)