Rated, ummm... R, I think. Sexual content, but not what I'd consider explicit. Here we go. ------- I Have Seen... by Imajiru ------- I was cold. I was paralyzed. I was frozen. But I was conscious. Conscious of my nakedness, the ice crystallizing on my flesh. Conscious of the umbilical, the alien tentacle down my throat. Conscious of my helplessness as something gathered within me: forming, coalescing, a silent malevolent presence. I'd thought cancer to be the ultimate invasion, the worst possible violation. I'd been wrong. My eyes were frozen open, yet all I could see was the miasma of slime, the green ice... so finally my mind was forced by sensory deprivation to imagery, to waking dreams. Horrors, mostly. The knowledge that all I'd seen and learned was for naught. I would die here, alone, without ever having made a difference. And when I saw Mulder's face before me, vague and murky through the ice, I thought: how wonderful it is, and how fitting, that his should be the image I take with me into the darkness. Mulder... We never did get to kiss, but our souls have touched a thousand times, melding and bonding to become one being. And now the bond will be broken: I will die alone, and he will never know what has happened to me, will never know... I'm sorry I told you I was leaving you, Mulder. I'm sorry I left you with that lingering ache. If that damned bee had to sting me, I'm sorry it couldn't have been just a few moments later... Mulder, I'm so sorry. It did not occur to me, as I felt the world around me shudder, that the specter before my eyes was real. It never crossed my mind that it was anything more than a hallucination. But then I felt the short, sharp pain in my shoulder, and the paralysis leaving me, as the malevolent thing inside me drained away -- and I came to know that I was being rescued. At first, rescue was no boon; physical discomfort followed. I coughed, fighting to expel the horrid-tasting fluid in my throat, feeling the cold lance into me even more strongly than it had in my prison... Then Mulder's arms were around me, warming me, hands fumbling to wrap me in his clothes, lifting me and carrying me away from the nightmare. Mulder. The world around me shook, in violent spasms of chaos, yet all my mind registered was Mulder, Mulder, Mulder... I fought to make my limbs work, knowing that he would not leave without me, propelled more by my fear for his safety than self-preservation, and struggling to keep the encroaching darkness at bay... And when finally it overwhelmed me, I came out of it to the unmistakeable feel of CPR compressions, and his tense, worried voice urging me to breathe... When I tell him I'm fine, he knows I'm not; so I made a joke so he'd know I was all right, and treasured the sight of his smile. Then we were fleeing: crawling, climbing, running, falling, being lifted aloft by a huge, inexorable force... The ice was cold against my face, and I was so tired, and the noise -- "Scully, you gotta see this!" I heard him say, above the sound that filled the world like a tangible force. So I looked. And I saw. No more evading belief. No more refuge in scientific plausibilities. There it was: Mulder's holy grail, larger than life and twice as impressive. His ultimate truth. It had indeed been out there. And he'd found it. "I saw it," I managed to croak, and his face relaxed into a smile, as if it was all he'd ever wanted: for me to see his truth, and believe. In it. In him. But I believed in him already. Didn't he know that? With my last ounce of strength, I pulled his semiconscious form into my arms, kissed his cold forehead and held him as tightly as I could. "I owe you everything, Mulder," I murmured into his hair. "Everything." And I held him like that until the cavalry came to get us. I knew them on sight, despite the hooded parkas concealing their faces. There was no conversation, just two pairs of arms carrying me to the vehicle, as the other two helped Mulder -- it occurred to me to wonder just how it had happened that the Terrible Trio had joined forces with my erstwhile boss, but I was too tired to question the providence that was removing us from this frozen hell. They dumped us in the back of the vehicle, and Mulder regained consciousness just enough, and just long enough, to crawl across the seat and into my arms -- it wasn't coordinated enough to be considered a proper embrace; we just clung to each other, holding on for dear life. I could almost feel the others pointedly ignoring us, leaving us with our privacy... it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except Mulder. Being alive, and being with Mulder. And finally -- finally, knowing the truth. ------- We're waiting for a plane back to civilization. Antarctica isn't Dulles; there isn't exactly a busy schedule of flights hither and yon. Skinner's pulled rank, and we should be on our way home by tomorrow morning, weather permitting. There was a debriefing, of sorts. If you can call three eager faces and one carefully nonchalant one demanding to know what happened to us. We told them what we could, in bits and pieces -- I wasn't very helpful; Mulder knew far more of the story than I did. But when I told them what had been done to me, about having been prepped and placed in that ice-cell, when Mulder realized for the first time that I had been aware throughout it all... his eyes widened in something like shock and pain, and his hand wrapped around mine and squeezed tightly, and didn't -- wouldn't, couldn't -- let go. The medical staff has given us the once-over, and the twice- over, and finally left us alone. We've eaten -- Mulder was ravenous; I felt vaguely nauseous at first, but once I started eating, I couldn't get enough. We've been shown to the guest accommodations, which are strongly reminiscent of any of the cheap motels we've stayed in. I've showered, wonderful hot water, and the feeling of being clean and dry and warm is incredible. Now I am sitting on the sole double bed in our room, waiting for Mulder to finish showering, wondering what will happen next. Things have changed. Everything has changed. I never knew... Often, I'd thought that Mulder would be better off with a more sympatico partner. Someone who believed the same things he did, who shared the same tendency to think outside the box, who could follow his leaps of logic and flights of fancy. Even though I knew that I was the only thing that kept him tethered to reality sometimes, no matter how close we became, I always thought... I never knew how much I meant to him. How much he valued me. I knew he cared, but... I'd never realized how much. And for all the times he's saved me -- this time was different. This time, I had known, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I was going to die. I had known that my number was up, that my life was over. And then, Mulder was there... And now that I have seen... I can't go back to being the person I used to be. I can't remain smugly secure in the scientific certainties I used to take as givens. I have *seen*, and I cannot shut my eyes to the sight, or to the knowledge I have gained. In so many ways, Mulder and I are closer than we have ever been. Things have changed. Everything has changed. And what will happen next, when we go back to Washington, and they send me in one direction and him in another? How can we be separated now? Mulder emerges from the small bathroom, wrapped in the plain bathrobe that was among the wardrobe the base's staff supplied for us, toweling his wet hair dry. He doesn't say a word, merely crosses the room toward me, seats himself cross-legged at the end of the bed, and begins massaging my left foot. God, I love this man. "Mulder," I say, because something has to be said; the silence between us is a comfortable, companionable one, neither tense nor awkward, but it is *silence*, and I need to break it. He looks up, raises his eyebrows at me, inviting me to continue. "Thanks," I tell him -- a most inadequate word, but all I can manage. And he shrugs. As if it were nothing. As if he hasn't just traipsed to the end of the earth to save my life. The silence takes over again, and still he is massaging my foot, fingers kneading small circles, devoting careful attention to each toe in turn. "You don't owe me anything, Scully," he says at last, his voice quiet and a little hoarse from the rigors of the frozen air he's gulped into his lungs throughout the ordeal. I open my mouth to make a reflex reply, then think about it for a moment. "Perhaps 'owe' is the wrong word," I admit. "'Owe' makes it sound like a debt, and that's not..." I pause for a moment, to collect my thoughts; it's vital that I phrase this properly. "A relationship like ours isn't based on debts." He considers this for a moment, then nods; having finished with my left foot, he carefully moves it aside, then takes my right foot into his lap and begins working his magic upon it. "How do you feel?" he asks me, glancing up from his task for just a moment. "Tired," I tell him. "I'm tired, and I hurt all over." He nods sympathetically, continuing to rub my aching foot. I draw a deep, deep breath, and finish the sentence. "And I want to make love to you." At this, he looks up, startled. Our eyes meet. His are like velvet, soft and enveloping; I could fall into his gaze and never surface... and for the first time, I allow myself to do exactly that. Time slows to a honey-crawl, and nothing exists except for Mulder and myself... His lips part, tongue darting to moisten them in a swift, nearly indiscernable motion. "I feel the same way," he says, so quietly that I can barely hear him. "On all counts." He smiles a little, a smile that is more a softening of his usual non-expression than anything else, and I smile back -- and his face melts into an outright grin: the warmest I have ever witnessed. His arm stretches across the bed toward me, and I reach back, and our hands clasp and hold on tight. Then we are moving toward each other, both of us pulling the other closer until we meet in the middle of the bed... closer and closer, so close... his arms enfold me, and I slide mine around him, and then -- finally -- he is kissing me. I am kissing him. We are kissing each other. Finally. And it is more than a kiss. It is the culmination of everything we are, everything we have become. It is the final step in the lengthy process of union that began five years ago and has been growing steadily more intense ever since. It is completion. In a sense, we have been making love for five years; and with this, our first kiss, the lovemaking process that is our partnership has reached its climax. Now, we get to do it for real. I didn't lie to Mulder, when he asked me how I felt. I am bone-weary, and my entire body aches. But this is not about sex: it's about intimacy -- I *need* to be close to him, as close to him as I can possibly get. And as his hands glide over my skin, caressing and possessing, I know that he feels the same way -- on all counts -- and that it doesn't matter that neither of us are in any sort of physical condition for recreational exercise: this is going to be incredible. And it is. "Just remember, we *are* in Antarctica," he says whimsically, as my hands strip off his bathrobe; and I laugh, at the patently ludicrous notion that I might somehow think less of this man based on the dimensions of his genitalia. He is my knight in shining armor, my best friend, my partner -- now and forever, no matter where the FBI might see fit to send either of us. At any rate, when the robe comes off, I note that he has nothing to be ashamed of, in any geographical locality -- and tell him so, in just those words; which makes *him* laugh. Laughter is, I discover, a wonderful way to begin a sexual encounter. Provided, of course, that it is the right sort of laughter. Ours is affirmation: that we know each other well enough to be able to laugh together, and to know that the laughter isn't taunting or cruel, but born of our rapport, our mutual affection. We snuggle under the covers together, and... cuddle. Holding each other, touching with soft caresses, getting used to the idea of being naked together in a situation that doesn't involve danger. Being close, luxuriating in the closeness, in the knowledge that for this enchanted bit of time we needn't rush. We've escaped from inescapable doom; nothing can touch us now. Slowly, the caresses grow more intimate, and more urgent. Slowly, our kisses become deeper, more passionate. Slowly, we move from cuddling into lovemaking; so slowly that it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. The pleasure builds, an infinite cascade, emotional and physical and sensual pleasure tumbling together in freefall inside me. And throughout it all, we talk. No rambling technobabble, of the sort we routinely rattle off at each other in an informal competition to see who can use the longest words without pausing for breath. Just small sentences, random bits of communication: "That feels so good." "You taste wonderful." "Oh, is that a bruise? Sorry." "You saved me." "You've always saved me." "I missed you." "I was afraid." Things that don't need words, really, to be shared. And things that aren't words at all -- sounds, sighs and cries and gasps and moans and subvocalizations of pleasure. Random communication, punctuating the process of getting closer. It is a natural, inexorable progression that seems to last forever and, paradoxially, not long enough -- but finally he is entering me; inside me. I look up into his eyes and become lost in them again, become lost in him even as he is losing himself in me... and the loss is our gain: as pleasure spikes into the red zone of ecstasy, it is as if we are one person, a single unit, irretrievably joined in a way that has nothing to do with intercourse. So attuned are we that we explode together, in the same heartbeat -- not two orgasms, but a single climax that encompasses both of us. And as he collapses onto me, sweaty and exhausted and happy, I know... that this ending is a beginning, and the best is yet to come. The act of finding a comfortable snuggle-sleeping position afterwards takes the last bits of energy we have left. And yet he rallies to stay awake for one more moment, long enough to force three more words past his sleepy lips... I know, of course. I've always known. But I say the words back to him, completing the ritual; and he smiles, and is instantly asleep. And I fall asleep in his arms, utterly content... Only a short while ago, I was so cold, and so alone. And now there is nothing but warmth. ------- He is on the verge of giving up. Reality has set in, as has fear. I know what is motivating him: his terror of losing me. And he will sacrifice everything he cares about -- his quest, and his love -- simply to keep me safe. My knight in shining armor. An unlikely champion, Mulder is; but my hero all the same. And I will not let him do it. I have seen too much; I know too much now, about the threat that faces us all. About him, and how he feels: how desperately he needs me in his life, as partner and friend and lover. As well, I have come to know myself. I have seen the truth. I have felt the terrifying presence of an alien organism within me. I have witnessed a spacecraft unexplainable by human science and technology, and irrefutably real. I have felt Mulder's love and loyalty and body wrapped around me like a cloak, protecting and warming me in ways I hadn't ever imagined. And I know, now, that Dana Scully is a person shaped by all of these things - - and not the same Dana Scully who stood in a hallway of FBI Headquarters just a few scant days ago, determined to leave them all behind. I tell him this, in words that he will understand. I take his hand in mine, and remind him that we are one, now: beyond separation. Our future lies ahead; and we will fight for it, together. And we walk off, hand in hand, to do precisely that. ------/end