Night Whispers
By XFBandit

Rating: PG
Classification: MSR, V
Rating: PG
Spoilers: 
Feedback: Sure. 
Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name and addy stay attached.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be. No money changed hands, 
and no characters were hurt in the creation of this fanfic.

drambo@sonic.net

Reno, Nevada

        As it always is with her, she comes to me in the night without 
announcement, without preamble. I hear the connecting door between our 
rooms click open, and the soft sound of her feet padding across the 
carpet alerts me to her presence.
        She slides onto the bed next to me, propping the two spare pillows 
up against the headboard, glancing over to see what Creature Feature 
I've found on at this hour.
        I know what's on her mind, but I also know the rules.
        No questions.
        My entire job, when she comes to me like this, is to listen.
        Only listen.
        "Jason called," she starts. "Left a voice mail, asked me to call 
him back."
        I bite my lip. I know what's coming.
        "He wants to end it."   
        It, I wonder? They've been out three times in four months. 
Scully's schedule is such that three dates in sixteen weeks is a record. 
A personal best for her.
        "When we met he told me that he admired my career, that he admired 
the fact that I traveled all over the country on the government's 
business, protecting the weak..." 
        She trails off. I hear more in her silences than in her words.
        I shift on the bed, careful not to make it seem that I'm 
impatient, that I don't want to hear what she has to say. Nothing could 
be further from the truth, actually.
        I desperately want to listen.
        If only to assure myself that no one else has breached that small 
part of her heart that I lay claim to. Part of me knows that no one can 
ever reach that part of her that is mine, but...I worry.
        I'm paranoid, after all.
        "But he told me that it was just too hard, trying to have a 
relationship with a woman who...who has a career that's more important 
to her than a man."
        She stops again, and I hear her words in the silence.
        As if a "man" is what's important to her.
        "We never made love," she says wistfully, and for a searing moment 
of fear, I think she's talking about us. Then I remember.
        I know.
        She's not talking about her and I; she never does...in that way.
        And with good reason.
        There's no guarantee that a microphone isn't secreted somewhere in 
this room, in our luggage, our clothing. My three strange friends, the 
former officers of their high school AV clubs, have done all they can to 
reduce the chances of clandestine observation, but even they admit that 
they're not 100% sure Scully and I aren't being...observed.
        Taped.
        Recorded.
        We're careful when we're alone. We talk in circles as much as 
possible. Other people, when they see it, assume that we have some sort 
of silent communication system, that we can read each other's mind.
        Not true.
        If she could read my mind...I'd constantly be in trouble.
        Ok...I'd be in trouble for other things.
        "Do you know how long it's been?" she asks. I nod. It's been just 
as long for me. I came close...twice, since meeting her. 
        Both times I knew I'd regret it later if I was...
        What?
        Unfaithful?
        In an odd sort of way, I guess that's the word that applies.
        My right hand is curled around the remote, my finger poised over 
the MUTE button. When I hear the shift in her voice, the little catch I 
know is coming, I'll silence the TV, giving her my undivided attention.
        It's the least I can do, even when I want to do so much more.
        But that doesn't happen this night.
        Instead, I feel both of her hands take mine, prying it off the 
remote, turning it over. Her nails trace the surface of my palm.
        I hold my breath, waiting.
        Her hand, her left hand, searches the comforter and finds the 
remote. Without looking at the TV, she hits PWR.
        The room dissolves into darkness.
        "Would you mind...?" she whispers.
        Without knowing exactly how I know, I realize what she wants.
        I shift higher on the bed, giving her the crook of my shoulder. I 
feel her settle against me, taking warmth from me, giving white-hot 
Scully back. 
        It burns where she touches me.
        Burns in the best way possible. 
        Would I mind.
        Her hand settles on my stomach.
        Betraying me, my muscles quiver under her touch.
        I feel her smile in the inky blackness.
        Amazing, I think -- after five years together, I can actually 
_hear_ a smile.
        As we sit there, each waiting for the other to take what we each 
want desperately to give, I wonder to myself how long it's going to take 
before one of us cracks. We can feel it between us, electric and alive, 
a real thing that's palpable and all but a physical presence in the 
room.
        I can't take it from her. If I take that which I know she wants to 
give to me, I will have given in first. I will be the neediest of the 
two of us, and in some unknown way she will have even more power over 
me. She would never use it, I know this.
        Never consciously, anyway.
        And for the same reason, I know she will not take from me that 
which I want to give her.
        So instead we sit in the darkness, each taking some small measure 
of comfort from the closeness of the other. It's not sex.
        But it's close.
        This is sex for us, I think. The physical intimacy between two 
people that love each other -- what other definition of sexual relations 
need apply to she and I?
        Anything more is dangerous.
        Anything less will not suffice.
        And then, another first.
        I feel her weight shifting, and thinking that she's rising to go, 
that she's gotten what she needs from me, I pull away slightly.
        I feel the wind brush my hair as her leg arcs over my body. I feel 
her weight settling on my beltline, her ass against me. She moves 
slightly, and the one silver beam of moonlight streaming in from the 
window catches her hair just right, just perfect, and I watch, my mouth 
open and dry as she tosses her head, her hair sliding back just for an 
instant, revealing her face to me, bathed in quicksilver-jasmine-light.
        Her eyes are wide, hungry.
        They ask me if this is all right.
        I say nothing.
        To speak...
        ...will break the spell.
        She waits for me to say something, anything.
        Patience, something I have fought long and hard to obtain, serves 
me well at this moment.
        "Say something," she hisses.
        I remain silent, asking, pleading with my eyes for her to do what 
she will with me, to take me away with her wherever she wants to go.
        I will follow willingly, but she must take the first step.
        She does.
        Her mouth lowers to mine, asking a question.
        I answer.
        
FINI