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its-flicked-switch · 6 years ago

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Sandcastles in the Sky

The after effects of chemo create a situation that, while first thought to be a hindrance, becomes exactly what is needed.

Set Post-Elegy s4e22.

Rating: Explicit

This story was originally written for the X-Files Easter FanFic Gift Exchange for @contrivedcoincidences6. Prompt: "I loovvveee early msr and/or pre-series. I also LOVE AUs, early series, cancer arc, pre-series, total au (loovvveee aus) gots to be msr and I'd appreciate some smut please!"

"The doctor said I was fine."

"I hope that's the truth."

"I'm going home."

Mulder kicks himself all the way home for letting her walk away. Scully may think she's hiding it well, and perhaps when it comes to everyone else she is. But not with him. He sees it. He sees the fear, sorrow, and avoidance. He sees every last bit.

He's well aware of the fact that making this about him only makes him more of an asshole, but that fact has done little to dampen the frustration that boils up from within him every time she dismisses the significance of what is happening as if it isn't his burden to bear as much as it is hers. She is so much more than his Watson. She is everything. And without her, he is nothing.

By the time he reaches his car, it's nearly 10:00 p.m. and Scully is gone. He considers driving by her place to check on her but thinks better of it. Regardless of how terrible she feels following her treatments, she never calls in or complains, even when it's quite apparent that she doesn't feel well and is absolutely exhausted. He wants more than anything to take care of her … to do something to soften the blow that his quest has inflicted on her health, but Scully has remained steadfast in her independence, keeping him at arm's length and refusing to let him in. Whether she's doing it to protect him or herself is unclear, but either way, it's disheartening.

He arrives at his apartment in a haze. Removing his jacket and slipping off his shoes, he doesn't bother to lock the door behind him as he collapses on the couch and buries himself in its familiarity. The bubbling hum of the aquarium helps to calm and lull him into a state of peaceful contentment that borders on sleep. But instead of succumbing to it, he fights it.

One would think that someone with his history and paranormal fixation would have nightmares, but he doesn't. In his dreams, Mulder doesn't see Armageddon or little green men. He sees something far worse. He sees what could have been.

He sees Samantha running along the beach behind their summer home in Quonochontaug.

He sees a healthy and vibrant Scully watching him, and a young boy building sandcastles in the sky alongside spaceships.

He sees a little girl with long strawberry blonde hair and crystal blue eyes who calls him daddy.

But Samantha is not in Quonochontaug, and he and Scully will never have children.

For this reason and so many others, Fox Mulder rarely sleeps. He doesn't even own a bed.

Rolling to his back, he pulls off his tie, untucks his shirt, and stares up at the ceiling. He's contemplating getting up to retrieve a tape from his collection when the cell in his pocket begins to ring.

"Agent Mulder."

"Mul — er?"

"Scully?"

He asks not because he isn't sure, but because there is something in her voice that is foreign to him.

"I … I'm hav—in' a little trouble," she says.

Holy fuck, he thinks. Is she drunk?

She's doing her best to hide it, slowing her words in an attempt to keep them from all slurring together, but if her first full sentence is any indication, she is most certainly more than a little under the influence.

"With what? Are you alright?" he asks, sitting up and slipping on his shoes in anticipation of leaving.

"Yeah," she replies, keeping her response short as she subdues a sniffle.

Dread and guilt flow through him as he realizes that the change in her voice isn't solely due to the indulgence of alcohol. She's been crying. Had his words about working against him sent her home in tears? The possibility immediately unsettles his stomach. His intention had been to encourage her to be more open and to no keep things from him, not to make her cry.

Fuck, he's an asshole.

"I'm okay," she insists, doing her best to clear her voice and sound as normal as possible. "I'm not sick. I just … I need … I would call my mom, but it's late and … I'm a bit out of it."

"No, I'm glad you called. What are you having trouble with, Scully? What's wrong?"

"I just … I can't …"

"You can't what?"

"It's stupid," she says, her voice dazed and muffled in a way that indicates to him that she's hanging her head or covering her face, if not both.

"If it's something you need, then it's not stupid," he says softly, encouraging her.

"The chemo," she says, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, "one of the side-effects is residual weakness and stiffness … especially in the upper extremities around the port."

The slow, precise, and guarded way that she is speaking now makes her sound almost normal. While she's clearly struggling to voice what's going on and why she has called, she's not as out of it as he first thought. In fact, the more she talks, the more lucid she sounds.

"Scully, I'm not sure that I understand—"

"I can't get my shirt off, Mulder."

OH.

"I would just cut it off, but … it's … it's a shirt Melissa bought for me, and I just can't … I'm sorry I—"

"Scully."

Her name comes out a bit louder and more commanding than he intends, so he immediately softens it.

"I'll be right over."

"Okay," she says quietly. "And … could you … could you use your key?"

The request surprises him, but he doesn't question it.

"Yeah … I can do that."

"Okay."

When she doesn't hang up and lets the silence hang, he hastens his movement, grabbing his go-bag, badge, gun, and jacket as he heads out the door.

Scully never asks for anything. Not really. So the fact that she has called and that she is hesitant to hang up the phone and be alone for the short period of time that it will take for him to reach her apartment immediately alerts him to the fact that this is about more than saving a shirt.

"Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No … no … I'll see you in a few minutes," she says softly. "Thank you, Mulder."

Before he can respond, the line goes dead.

—

When he arrives at her apartment just before midnight, he hesitates briefly at her door. Scully had asked him to use his key to enter, but even with her permission, he's still inclined to knock and announce his arrival.

With her having been the victim of home invasions in the past, the last thing he wants to do is startle her.

"Scully? I'm here."

"Back here," he hears her say from somewhere in the back.

Assuming she's in her bedroom, he slips off his shoes, removes his jacket and places his bag, gun, and badge on her coffee table before proceeding to the back.

"Scully?" he asks again, slowing as he reaches the threshold of her door.

"In here."

What he sees as he enters her bedroom and looks into her bathroom breaks his heart. Scully is soaking wet with a large towel wrapped around her torso.

"I thought that if I got in a hot shower I could get it to loosen up enough to pull it off, but getting off a wet tee shirt is harder than I remember it being," she says, reading the question in his eyes.

"Interesting. I wouldn't have pegged you as being a wet tee shirt contest kind of girl, Scully," he says in an attempt to lighten the mood and put her at ease.

The smirk that plays across her lips as he speaks allows him to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Which shoulder is it?" he asks softly, taking on a more serious tone that relays his concern.

"The left."

"Is it tender to the touch?"

"A bit."

"Would massaging it help?"

"Maybe."

Closing the distance between them, he gestures for her to reposition herself on the toilet seat to give him better access to her shoulders. When his hands come into contact with her wet clothing, he's taken back how chilled her skin and clothing feels.

"Jesus, Scully. You must be freezing."

"The hot shower was a good idea until it wasn't."

"Here," he says, reaching for a towel hanging up alongside the tub and draping it over her right shoulder.

"Why don't we move into the bedroom? I think you'll be more comfortable sitting on the bed."

"Okay."

He starts to step away to give her some space to move, but as she stands and turns she loses her balance and falls into him.

"Muscle relaxer," she mumbles by way of explanation, clearly embarrassed by the fact that she's half dressed, soaking wet, and can barely stand.

Looking at her now, the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to come together. She's not drunk, she's in pain, and based on how she is stumbling about, she has either taken more than the recommended dose or has taken the medication for the first time. Given how much weight she has lost since starting chemo, it's entirely possible that whatever she took has impacted her more profoundly than she anticipated.

With him stabilizing her, they move quietly and with purpose into the bedroom where she settles awkwardly on the edge of her bed. As he watches her move and adjust herself accordingly, he can't help but notice how tightly she is clinging to her towel.

It hadn't occurred to him until that very moment that she was likely only wearing a tee shirt and bra when she got into the shower. And with her shirt being soaked, she probably hadn't bothered to put on anything else when she got out.

Suddenly, Mulder is very thankful that her back is to him.

In an attempt to distract himself away from what lies beneath, he begins to rub her shoulder, but quickly draws back when she flinches.

"No … no … it's okay …. it's just … tender."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, really. I think it will help. It's just uncomfortable."

Placing his hands back over her shoulder he begins to knead, but this time he doesn't put as much pressure through the tips of his fingers.

"Is this why you have been wearing mostly button-down shirts?"

His question appears to catch her off guard because she immediately peers over her shoulder at him and gives him a questioning look that indicates that he's been paying more attention to her than she has given him credit for.

"The button-downs are easier. My shoulder has felt almost normal for the past few days, so I thought I would be okay to wear this but … apparently not."

"How many shirts have you cut?"

"Just one."

"You could have called me."

"I didn't care about that one, so it was easier just to cut it."

"Well, it does feel like it's loosening up a bit. What time did you take the muscle relaxer?"

"A little after 11:00."

He wants to ask her how many she took but thinks better of it. The last thing he wants to do is piss her off or make her regret calling him to begin with.

"It appears to have loosened up everything except my shoulder. This …" she says, pausing and wincing as his fingers make their way over a particularly tender spot.

"Sorry," he says, lightening his touch.

"This is the first time I've taken them. I've had them for a little over a month, but haven't wanted to take them knowing I could be called out in the middle of the night for a case."

"Scully, why didn't you talk to me about this? If you were in pain, you should have just …"

"I'd rather feel the pain than feel completely out of it."

"Do you feel completely out of it? Because you don't sound completely out of it."

"I feel … numb, tired, and like I shouldn't be up walking around."

"Well, that much is clear," he says smirking and nodding his head towards the bathroom causing her to chuckle in response.

She's relaxed now. The tense embarrassment that he saw in her face initially is gone.

"How do you want to do this, Scully? I think we may be able to get it off now, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

To this, she blushes a bit and turns her head back forwards.

"It's nothing that you haven't seen before, Mulder."

She's not wrong, but this is different, and they both know it."

"Or have you forgotten?"

It's difficult to tell if there is any actual heat behind her words since she's facing away from him, but the tone of her voice and tension building in her body as she reaches down to tighten her hold on the towel clues him in to the fact that there has been a shift in the paradigm. He's honestly surprised that she's mentioned Antarctica.

Mulder is a lot of things, but unobservant isn't one of them. He's watched her fidget with her clothing and caught her lingering glances along reflective surfaces as they pass. It's subtle, yet blatantly obvious that she is uncomfortable with the amount of weight she has lost, and the last thing he wants her to be as he undresses her is self-conscious. So for this reason, and this reason alone, he is candid.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten."

He keeps his hands on her as he speaks so he can feel her reaction to his words. When she does turn her head to give him her eyes, he does everything in his power to relay how much he respects her — not wanting his words to be translated as being perverse.

Without words, they begin to rearrange her wet shirt in order to pull it off. Her left shoulder and arm are still bit stiff, but between the two of them, they are able to twist it around without stretching the shirt too terribly. She still sitting with her back to him, but he can feel her wince at the end as they work together to pull it over her head and off of her arm.

"Sorry," he says as he helps her bring her arm back down and tosses her shirt to the side.

Bringing his hands back to rest over her shoulders, he moves fingers firmly across her skin in an attempt to relax her, noting that the clasp to her bra is in the back. She hasn't asked him to undo it, but he knows after helping her with her shirt that she is not going to be able to undo it herself unless she removes the straps and flips it around. Lowering his hands to work along her middle back, he works his way down until his hands are alongside the clasp. Fearing that talking about it will only serve to make it more awkward, he waits for her to indicate that she is ready.

When she gives him a slight nod, he undoes it and runs his hand down her back.

"Do you want me to grab you another shirt or your robe?"

"No, I want to take a shower."

"Are … are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I think I'll be alright," she says, removing the bra completely and placing it off to the side as she rearranges her towel to cover her breasts.

Even with her back to him, he can still see enough of her body to make his dick harden, which immediately fills him with shame. He should turn his back to give her some privacy, but he doesn't. He can't take his eyes off of her. Even with the weight she has lost, she's still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

"Okay," he says, snapping himself out of his trance and taking a step back.

He's about to step out and give her some privacy when she turns to stand and stumbles. Cursing, Mulder makes his way to her side instantly, narrowly managing to catch her before she hits the floor.

The realization that she's dropped the towel hits them both at the same time. She gasps, her eyes widening in shock as his hand grazes over her breasts and settles along the bare skin of her torso as he works to pull her body up and stabilize her. Now, with her standing directly before him completely nude, there is no way for either of them to reach down and pick up the towel without creating contact. Doing his best to distract himself away from the fact that he is holding a very naked Scully, Mulder keeps his eyes glued to hers as he guides them back towards the bed, grabbing the extra towel they had brought in from the bathroom.

No words are spoken as she takes it and covers herself.

Her face is difficult to read. It's clear that she's embarrassed, but there is something else there too. Something he can't quite place.

Not wanting to linger too long in dangerous waters, he states the obvious in hopes that she will just lay down and rest.

"Scully, I'm not sure that taking a shower right now is a good idea. The last thing you need is to fall and hit your head or break something. Let me grab you a shirt or something. You can take one in the morning," he says, trying desperately to not think about how soft her skin is and how amazing it felt to touch her breast.

"No. I feel gross. I want to shower."

"Scully, you can hardly stand … "

"A bath then."

"Is it really that critical that you—"

She doesn't have to interrupt him to silence him. The look she gives him says it all.

"Fine, but I'm running the bathwater, and you're going to stay right here."

"Mulder …"

"Scully."

Now it's his turn to give her a look. He's more than willing to indulge just about anything when it comes to her, but her safety is not up for debate. If she's going to insist on taking a bath, he's going to draw it for her and help get her settled. He can tell that the idea does not necessarily enchant her, but he also knows that she's well aware of the fact that she is no condition to insist otherwise. Her mind is sound; her body just isn't cooperating.

"Fine."

Retreating to the bathroom, Mulder turns on the water and begins to shuffle through her bathroom cabinets in search of a bath salt or soap that would help her relax while also serving to give her a bit of privacy. He doesn't trust her to call for him when she's finished, and she's not going to be able to get in or out without stumbling.

Fuck.

How in the world is he going to get through this without his hard-on being on full display? It's not like she's drunk and so out of it that she won't remember his dick poking at her through his clothes as he helps her settle into the tub. If he doesn't find something to help cover her a bit as she bathes he's going to come in his pants.

Spotting some bubble bath in the cabinet under the sink, he grabs it and pours a liberal amount into the running water as he checks the temperature. Not wanting it to be too hot, he adds a bit of cold and tests it again. Satisfied that it won't burn her, he returns to the bedroom where he finds her sitting exactly where he left her.

Without a word, he helps her stand and guides her into the bathroom where they are both greeted with a sight that takes them both by surprise.

Thankfully, Scully begins to laugh.

"FUCK."

"You poured it in didn't you?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says, walking her through the mess of overflowing bubbles and positioning her to where she can safely sit on the toilet seat beside the tub while he fruitlessly fights the massive mountain of bubbles cascading out of the bathtub and onto the floor.

"It's the good stuff," she tells him, nodding towards the open bottle sitting on the counter. "You only need a cap full."

"Well, I think it's fair to say I used more than a cap."

"Clearly."

He turns to face her, expecting her to be irritated. Instead, he finds that the color has returned to her cheeks. For the first time in weeks, she's genuinely laughing and smiling. He's always thought she was beautiful, but as she sits before him clad in only a towel with bubbles floating around her, she's breathtakingly beautiful. Painfully so.

"Why the bubbles, Mulder?" she asks.

The teasing smile playing on her lips is enough to let him know that she is well aware of the prominent effect her state of undress is having on him.

"I thought it might help you relax … and give you a bit of privacy."

Using the side of the tub and the countertop to stabilize herself, she stands, letting the towel fall to the floor as she does.

This time, he doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes up. With her permission, he takes her in, and this time he does so thoroughly. Extenuating circumstances prevented him from fully appreciating her in Antarctica, but nothing of the sort is stopping him now.

If it weren't for the circumstances at play, he would be lunging forward and backing her up against the wall, but he stops himself short of doing so because no matter what their bodies are saying, now is not the time.

His body longs for hers more than it has longed for anything else in this world, but he doesn't want it to happen because she thinks she's dying. As much as he wants to be the one to relieve the sexual tension that is so clearly coiled up inside of her, he can't let it be just about that. Not with them. He can't be her one-night Ed Jerse.

Taking her hand, he guides her to the tub and helps her step inside, shutting off the water as she lays back and settles herself under the bubbles.

"Sorry," he says, settling himself alongside the tub swatting at the bubbles floating around in the air.

"Don't be."

The soft smile that plays across her lips as she settles her head on the rim of the tub calms him. Whether it's the drugs, the late hour, the company, or a combination of the three he cannot be sure, but he's certainly not complaining.

He is, however, curious.

When he saw earlier in the evening, she was closed off to him and insistent that she do this alone, which is precisely why he had pressed her and accused her of working against him. Had his words to her at the scene really impacted her that deeply? Or was something else at play?

"Not that I'm complaining, but why not call your Mom? You said you were out of it on the phone, and to be honest, when I first heard your voice, I thought you were … but you're not."

She turns to face him briefly, giving his question pause and musing over her words carefully before allowing them surface and give weight to the air between them.

"I don't want her to see," she says softly.

Despite the quiet tone she has taken, her words are firm and steady, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence that he is tempted to fill. But sensing there is more, he remains silent, fiddling with the bubbles alongside the outer lip of the tub as he waits. The ball is in her court. Letting him in has to be her choice.

"When I'm working, it's easier for both of us, because it almost makes things normal. She's used to me working all the time."

"Scully …"

"She was sitting right next to Melissa when she coded. She shouldn't have to watch me die too. I can't … I just can't do that to her."

"You're not going to die, Scully."

"But I am dying, Mulder. I know you don't want to see it or deal with it, but I am. It's happening. You want me to let you in, but I don't think you understand what that means."

"Do you?"

"I wouldn't change a day," she says, repeating the words she uttered to him months earlier.

If he weren't already hopelessly in love with her, the way she's looking at him now would have certainly sealed the deal. Lifting her hand up to the edge of tub she seeks his, intertwining her fingers with his.

For the next few minutes, no words are spoken as they gaze into each other's eyes.

She breaks the moment, but not the mood when she lets go of his hand and moves to sit up, grabbing a bar of Ivory soap from the other side of the tub.

Bubbles cling to her body as she rises, allowing her to maintain some semblance of modesty, but as she runs the bar of soap across her shoulders, chest, and arms, it becomes clear that modesty is not high on her priority list.

"Can I ask you something, Mulder?" she asks, snapping him out of his longing leer. "Something personal?"

"You can ask me anything," he tells her, lowering his hand to rub across his hard-on as he continues to watch.

"Do you … do you ever wish things were different?"

"What things?" he asks, watching her closely.

Silence fills the air as her boldness wains and her eyes drop, he shifts to position himself closer, catching her eyes and asking her again.

"What things, Scully?"

"Like … do you ever think about going a different direction? About having and wanting something normal?"

The last thing Mulder wants to do is break the seriousness of the moment, but he can't help but chuckle at the idea of him and normal being in the same sentence.

"Scully, of all things for which I am certain … I am certain that my definition of normal will not hold up against the Webster version, so you're going to have to be a bit more specific. Are you talking about work? About doing something other than the X Files?"

"No … not necessarily."

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about life outside of work."

"Okay," he says, giving her a look at the encourages her to continue.

"Do you ever miss it, Mulder?"

"Miss what, Scully?"

"The touch of a lover?"

Just when he thought he might potentially survive the evening without coming in his pants, she has to go and ask him a question like this.

Leaning deeply into the cabinets behind him, he contemplates how he is going to respond. The answer is a no-brainer. Of course, he does. But he doesn't desire a quick roll in the hay. Sex is no longer the only thing he desires.

"Or do the videos do it for you?"

The mere mention of his video collection makes him smirk, knowing damn well she would be far less likely to prod him about it if she knew that every video he owned starred a petite red-head.

When he watches, he never sees them. He only ever sees her.

"Mulder?"

Not wanting to make her nervous or uncomfortable by remaining silent for too long, he decides to be candid. She is, so he will follow suit.

"The videos relieve tension, but my hand is a poor substitute for the real thing."

"Well, there's a long list of secretaries that wouldn't mind your company. I've seen the way they look at you," she says, tilting her head to meet his eyes again.

Despite how turned on he is by the turn the conversation has taken, he can't help but appreciate just how surreal it is. He just finished settling her naked body into a bathtub after disrobing her, yet, here she is, trying to shift him towards an alleged long list of other women who wouldn't mind his company.

"And how do they look at me, Scully?"

"Like they would be more than willing to act out what's on those videos."

"And just what do you think is on those videos?" he asks, now curious.

What does Dana Scully think Fox Mulder likes?

"I imagine it's a fairly standard guy script," she says vaguely, a soft pink hue spreading up through her neck and across her cheeks that is definitely not an artifact of the warm water.

"And what might that entail?"

Part of him feels guilty for digging in and not letting it go, especially given that she's taken medication that has undoubtedly loosened her tongue, but now that she's brought this to the forefront he really wants to know.

"Oral … Doggie …"

"Is that what you think I like?"

She's quiet for a moment, gauging his expression as her body shifts slightly underneath the water.

It suddenly occurs to him that he hasn't seen her hands in quite some time. The realization makes him impossibly harder than what he already is.

"It's what most men want," she says evenly.

And just like that, Mulder hates every man that has ever laid hands on her that much more. If that's what she believes all men want, then she certainly hasn't been loved or treasured. All she's ever been is fucked. The realization both sickens and enrages him, but he doesn't dare let it show. Not tonight. Not like this.

"I'm not most men."

To this, she chuckles, turning her head to the side and looking straight into his eyes.

"If you're referring to your infatuation with alien life-forms and the paranormal, then I would have to agree, but primitive drive is primitive drive, Mulder. It only has one objective."

"What makes you think my primitive drive would involve oral and doggie?"

What was a pink hue, is now a full-fledged red. He knows he's pushing boundaries, but he can't leave it like this. He can't walk away having her believe that his fantasies align with her previous experiences.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," she says, suddenly finding something of interest within the bubbles as she averts her eyes.

"I'm not," he says, leaning forward and touching the side of her face to redirect her eyes back to his. "Scully, I do miss a woman's touch, but casual sex doesn't interest me. It hasn't interested me in a long time."

"Mulder … what happened with Jerse … it … it wasn't what you think," she says quietly.

Fuck.

"Scully, I wasn't … that wasn't an attack on—"

"I know."

Sitting up tall, she pulls the bar of soap above the surface of the water and places it back on the ledge.

"It felt good to be wanted … to have someone's desire so blatantly pressed against me."

The gentlemen lurking inside of him knows that he should stop her and tell her that whatever happened isn't any of his business and that it doesn't matter. But he remains silent because it does matter, and he does want to know.

"We … we fooled around, but … he didn't … we didn't."

Unable to hide his surprise, he gives her a questioning look.

"His tattoo … it started bleeding, and by the time we got it stopped and cleaned up he was … different … off …. and didn't, uh, seem all that interested anymore."

Of all the things he expected to have gone down on the night she spent with Ed Jerse, this was not among them. She had been willing, and in his state of psychosis, he had been unable to perform.

Suddenly, a lot of things begin to make sense to Mulder.

Scully had let him believe that she had spent a passionate night in the arms of a stranger because the truth didn't make much of ballot. While she may have appreciated his jealousy, he no longer believes that making him jealous was her primary objective. Leaving his assumptions unchecked had been more of an act of self-preservation. She and Jerse had fooled around, and then Jerse had given her his shirt and turned her away. Rather than seeing the situation for what it was, Scully had walked away from the encounter feeling unwanted and unattractive. The fact that Jerse had strangled and beat the hell out of her the following morning certainly hadn't helped matters.

"Scully, Jerse was psychotic. Him not …"

He stops himself short of saying wanting you, deciding instead to allow her to fill in the blank.

"It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. I can assure you that."

It's more clear to him now than ever that her discontent with her self-image has just as much to do with that night as it does her weight loss. Fucking Jerse.

"Regardless," she says, taking a weighted breath. "You were right. It was careless. He could have killed me."

"But you didn't know that," he says to her softly. "Not at the time."

Now having heard the truth about what had transpired that night, he's filled with remorse for how he treated her when she returned. She was free to see whomever she pleased. She wasn't his. He desperately wanted her to be, but she wasn't. Not in the way he wanted her to be anyway.

Scully had wanted to feel something. Something real. Something primitive. And instead of being her friend and being compassionate, he had acted like a selfish, jealous asshole.

"It's okay to want something quick, easy, and uncomplicated, Scully. I'm sorry that I made you feel otherwise."

His apology earns him a shadow of a smile as she picks at her pruning fingers.

"What if all it taught me was that I didn't want something quick, easy, and uncomplicated?"

"How normal of you," he says, a chuckle rumbling in his chest and a smile spreading across his face.

Flicking bubbles at his face, she joins in on his laughter and gives him her eyes. The dark hue within them is something new. He knows he should look away to keep from making her uncomfortable, but he can't. He's too entranced — swallowed whole by the deep end of the ocean.

"The water's getting cool," she comments, fidgeting under his gaze.

"I'll grab you a fresh towel."

Springing into action, he turns away from her quickly in an attempt to hide the effect she has on him. The guise of privacy that the bubbles provided has dwindled significantly over the course of the last 20 to 30 minutes. He hopes like hell the bath has helped to ground and settle her because he's not sure that his body can withstand drying her with embarrassing both of them.

"If there aren't any more under there, there should be more in the hall closet."

"Okay," he says, looking under the cabinet. "Looks like we are in luck though," he says, handing her the clean towel as he helps her stand and step out of the tub. "Although, I may need to grab a few more to deal with all of this."

The bubbles have made a mess of her bathroom floor, leaving it wet in some places and sticky in others.

"Once I help get you settled, I'll come and clean this up."

"It's okay, Mulder. I can get it in the morning."

"No. I'll take care of it."

Unsure of how stable she currently is, he stands before her awkwardly and waits for her to give him some sort of indication on what she needs him to do.

"I think I can handle it from here … thank you, Mulder."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to fall."

"I'll sit," she said nodding towards to toilet. "Would you, uh, mind grabbing me a shirt and some pants out of my dresser though? I keep them in the bottom drawer to the right."

"Yeah, no problem."

Once she's seated, he slips out of the bathroom and makes his way over to her dresser to retrieve her clothing. Opening the bottom drawer to the right, he finds numerous oversized tee shirts. Most of which appear to be from her college days, but there is one in particular that jumps out at him — because it's his.

It's an old Knicks shirt that he has been looking for off and on for several months now. When he had been unable to locate it after cleaning out his car and gym locker, he had just assumed that he had left it in a rental car or hotel room somewhere. He never thought to ask Scully if she had seen it.

While it's possible that she washed it and forgot about it, he highly doubts it, given its prominence in its current location. Grabbing his shirt and pair of her flannel pajama bottoms, he returns to the bathroom, knocking three times as he enters.

The expression that crosses her face when she sees that he's discovered his shirt in her pajama drawer is priceless. She had not sent him to the bottom drawer on the right to make this discovery, but now that he has she is grappling for an explanation that will be less explicit than the truth. The truth being - Scully has been sleeping in his shirt because it provided her comfort, and she liked the feel of it against her skin. He doesn't have to ask. He can see it in her eyes and the expression on her face.

If the circumstances were different, he would let her squirm, but tonight he's going to let her off the hook, injecting humor into an awkward exchange in a way that only he can.

"If I would have known you had a hankering for the Knicks, Scully, I would have bought you a tee shirt a long time ago."

Blushing, she accepts the shirt from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Mulder. I—"

"It's yours."

The effect his words have on her hits him like a brick. At first, he's not sure, but when she drops her towel and reveals her body to him once again, he's certain.

Scully is aroused. Painfully so.

The dark hue of blue within her eyes and pert nipples revealing the depth of her desire.

"Scully, I …"

"You can touch me, Mulder."

Taking a step closer to her, he runs his fingers down the lengths of her arms causing them both to shiver as he gazes at her body.

"I … you have no idea how much I want to … how beautiful you are … but … I can't, not like this. Not tonight. Not when you've been in pain and are on medication that could cloud your judgment. I would never forgive myself if you woke up and felt like I took advantage of you or the situation."

"My judgment isn't clouded … it's emboldened, and it's not meds talking, Mulder. It's me. Life can be … short. We spend so much time just … running. I want something normal, but not from a stranger. I was willing to get it from a stranger when I thought that was the only way I could get, but … it wasn't ever really what I wanted."

"What do you really want then, Scully?"

"Something deep, complicated, and dangerous," she says, swallowing thickly. "Something passionate and loving … something real … that will make me feel alive with the one person I desire."

"Then we both want to the same thing," he says, his voice gruff with desire.

They both lunge at the same time.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he pulls her body firmly against his and drops his head to capture her lips. When his hands raise to cup her breasts she gasps, opening her mouth and allowing him to explore her fully. Even with the weight she's lost, she still fills his hands. Touching her feels better than he ever could have imagined. No video, fantasy, or wet dream even remotely compares.

Not wanting to consummate their relationship on a wet bathroom floor or countertop, he begins to guide her towards her bedroom where he can lay her out and properly explore. By the time he's done, there will be little room for her to doubt her appeal and desirability. He is going to devour her in the best possible way, and he's not going to stop until he takes her breath away.

By the time they reach the bed she's unbuttoned his shirt and his slacks. He breaks their kiss momentarily to remove his undershirt, but immediately returns his lips hers, devouring her and stealing the breath from her lungs as he presses her bare chest against his for the first time. The moan he swallows as her breasts rub against his nearly makes him come on the spot. Scully is going to be vocal in her pleasure. The realization makes him impossibly harder than what he already is and fills him with the desire to hear just how vocal she actually will be.

Breaking their kiss, he halts her wandering hands and looks down into her eyes. Having blocked her hands from reaching their intended destination, he lowers his to cup the rounded cheeks of ass, squeezing and kneading as he draws his fingers closer to the place he desires most.

"Are you sure, Scully? Absolutely sure?" he murmurs in her ear.

Grasping his hand, she guides him to her center, allowing him to feel how soaking wet she is.

"Is that sure enough for you?" she mumbles, rubbing her nose across the stubble of his chin as she presses her breasts into his chest.

The discovery of just how soaking wet she is strips away at Mulder's resolve and pokes at the primitive beast within him, driving him forward.

"I think our bodies know exactly what they want, but do our minds? This can't … it can't just be a thing, Scully," he says, swallowing thickly. "You mean too much to me. I can't be your Ed Jerse. I won't survive it."

"Oh, you're no Ed Jerse, Mulder. You're deep, loving, dangerous, and passionate," she whispers, repeating back her earlier words as she runs her lips across his chest.

When his fingers begin to move, she drops her forehead against his chest and watches as his fingers explore her sex and circle her entrance. The realization that she likes to watch is his undoing.

"Get on the bed, Scully."

Mulder quickly removes his socks and slacks but opts leaves his boxers in place as he crawls onto the bed to hover over her.

FUCK, she's beautiful.

And now, in this very moment, he has a chance to make her his. Not Ed's. Not Jack's. His.

"Mulder?" she asks, looking down at the tenting erection still covered by his boxers.

"To keep me in check."

"In check?"

"So that I can do this," he says, lowering his hands and lips to explore her body one section at a time.

While his mouth explores her neck, his hands fondle her breasts, rubbing the tips of his fingers across her nipples as his licks, nips, and kisses his way to down fully explore them with his mouth. When his mouth reaches her breasts, his hands lower to caress her thighs and ass. He is touching her everywhere except for the very place she desires him the most.

"Please," she gasps, raising her pelvis and rubbing her wet center against his stomach. "Touch me, Mulder."

Smiling, he sweeps his tongue across her nipple and shifts his hand to rub his fingers through her center, thoroughly soaking them in her arousal before raising them to circle her clit.

"Oh … fuck," she moans, catching him off guard.

He had suspected she would be vocal after the kiss, but the f-bomb had not been something he had anticipated. His Catholic, conservatively dressed partner of four years is completely naked beneath him, throwing her head back, cursing, and begging him for more. Removing his lips from her breasts, he looks down between them and watches her hips chase his hand as he picks up the pace.

As much as he's enjoying the erotic image their bodies make, he knows his body will fuck him over if he doesn't move things along. He can feel, hear, and smell her arousal, but it's not enough. Lowering his body, he pulls his fingers away and replaces them with his mouth causing her to squeal in surprise.

Scully immediately opens her legs to him more fully, accommodating his hungry mouth as he explores her sex just as he did her mouth. The noises coming from her now only serve to increase the level of euphoria in the air. It's the most sexually gratifying experience of his life, and he's not even inside of her yet.

"Fuck, Mulder … I'm gonna—"

And she does. Liberally.

It's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life.

But he doesn't stop, he keeps going until it's clear that she's done and can take no more.

The picture she makes beneath him with her chest heaving as she gasps for air makes his heart flutter and his hips buck. This woman is going to fucking end him.

Pulling down his boxers, he exposes himself to her fully for the first time, rubbing himself up and down her slit and coating himself in her arousal as she watches. As he works his body against hers, her eyes dilate more fully, turning a shade of midnight blue with speckles of green that he's never seen before.

He's so mesmerized by her eyes that he's taken completely by surprise when she flips him over on his back.

Not that he minds.

The visual of her looming over his arousal with lust filled eyes nearly makes him come on the spot, but when he reads the destination in her eyes, he halts her movement.

"As nice as that would be, I wouldn't survive it."

"Maybe next time then."

Next time. Sweet Jesus, Joseph, and Mary …

Bracing herself above him with one arm she reaches down to guide him with the other.

"Shoulder feel better?" he asks playfully as she aligns them, poising him at her entrance.

"Oh, several parts of me are about to feel a whole lot better."

Any response he may have made is completely swallowed by the groan that leaves his body when she lowers herself onto him, taking him in one inch at a time until she is buried to the hilt.

She's so fucking tight that he can hardly stand it.

He wants to speak.

He wants to tell her how absolutely gorgeous she is and how fucking amazing that she feels. But words escape him as she readjusts her hands to bracket herself above him, moving on and off of him as she rotates her hips.

Holy fuck, she's talented.

"Scully … fuck," he heaves. "If you keep doing that I'm not going to last very long."

"That's sort of the idea," she grunts, gyrating against him roughly in order get more pressure through her clit as she rides him.

"I'm … we're not … using anything … fuck, Scully."

"I don't need anything. Not with you," she moans, grasping one of his hands and raising it to her breast as she continues to move, increasing her pace as she chases release once again.

Lowering his other hand to circle her clit, he watches the picture forming above him with awe. Scully is coming completely undone riding his dick, and it's the most amazing, beautiful, and erotic thing that he has ever seen.

She comes the second time with a scream, and this time, he can't hold back any longer. Flipping them over, he raises her thighs to rest alongside his chest as he drives into her with wild abandonment, coming in copious spurts as he moans her name.

When it's done, they are both soaking wet and heaving for breath.

Raising up on his elbows to relieve her of some of his body weight, he looks down at her with longing. Looking into her eyes now, Mulder immediately knows one fact with absolute certainty.

There will never be anyone else. Scully is it for him.

They caress, fondle, and whisper in the dark until his body is ready to take her again, and he does — this time, slowly. It's glorious, wonderful, and invigorating. He has never felt more alive than what he feels when he is inside of her.

But as she drifts to sleep in his arms, the cold light of day begins to shine through with a sobering reality. While she may be alive and vibrant in his arms now, she's been given a death sentence. A sentence he can no longer ignore.

He has to find a cure.

He doesn't care who he has to kill, beat, or cheat. He will not watch her die.

For there are sandcastles to be built in the sky.

#the x files #msr fanfic #first time #mulder and scully #cancer arc

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justinsdaysinthedark · 5 years ago

Text

Post # 6 - It is what it is

I'd be lying if I said I haven't spent the past half an hour with tears flowing from my eyes staring at a blank screen wondering how I'm going to get everything I've got floating in my head out. I suppose listening to Coldplay live in Argentina probably wasn't the best choice of music to set the mood. I'll work on that one in the future...

Where do I start? It's been a question I'm often asking myself at the start of these blog posts and it's certainly not the easiest one. What do you guys know? There's been so much happen since my last post on Thursday night.

Friday July 26th: I saw my doctors around lunchtime who came in quite concerned. Whilst they were confident my lymphoma was one called DLBCL (Diffuse Large B- Cell Lymphoma), some tests had come back with suspect results that it could be a more aggressive and harsh type of lymphoma called Burkitt's lymphoma and if confirmed, chemo was starting that night with no time to waste. There was also one marked in the middle (a cross of the two) called Burkitt's Like Lymphoma which is treated similarly to DLBCL. Whatever it was, I couldn't change it. I just wanted answers and if treatment needed to start, let's get it underway!

Adam, my incredible haematology doctor sent off another test of my gall bladder to finally get the confirmation I was after. It was urgent. He had to know. It was reassuring of Adam to state "Justin, we need to know what this is. Preliminary results are due back later this afternoon and that will hopefully rule out Burkitt's. if it is Burkitt's, we'll start chemo tonight and I'll be with you every step of the way - even if I have to stay back a few hours."

I know doctors earn a fair coin on a lazy day, but how many give you that much confidence that you and your health is important to them? I'm going to have it a guess and say not many but alas, I am so incredibly lucky with the team of doctors I have.

4:00pm and Adam strolls in the door heading straight for my room. My heart drops, similarly to what it had when Michael dropped the news I had lymphoma. "Good news. Preliminary results are back and we're confident it's not Burkitt's. You can't rule out anything in life, so there still is a small chance it could be. We're happy to wait for the final results on Monday, figure out a treatment plan from there and start Chemotherapy next week. Spend Saturday and Sunday on day leave and I'll see you next week."

This was news to my ears. In a time of what has been negative or no news, I could spend the weekend with family relatively freely and forget everything was happening for a few hours each day. My Uncle Bob and Aunty Denise were down from Tasmania to see me, as was my Aunty AJ and cousins from Bairnsdale so it all felt like it fit into place.

Friday night saw me considerably more relaxed with this news...that was until Collingwood started and it was the demolition it was. Slightly humorous side note, the nurse came in around 9pm for my nightly observations. Naturally, my heart rate was up a bit more than normal watching the football (118BPM - normally between 70-85BPM). This caused the nurse to call in the team of doctors who wanted to put me on an ECG machine for the night and monitor my heart. I assured them it was because Collingwood were on and if they gave me an hour, I'd be okay. It took some convincing, but it finally worked. Back they came an hour later and it had gone down - crisis averted.

Saturday afternoon and evening was wonderful. I went down to dads for dinner and was fortunate enough to spend some much needed time with family over a beautiful dinner and good laugh.

Sunday was much the same. I went home, mum did a fair chunk of washing for me as I spent it being me. Seeing Courtney, napping in my own bed and even headed over to Fountain Gate and got some much needed new clothes and other miscellaneous items - something that seems so simple but is such a luxury when you've spent the past 15 days in hospital.

Monday July 29th: They say the more you think positively, the more positive news you shall receive....or it goes something like that right? I woke up this morning the most upbeat and best I'd felt in weeks. I felt fine. I felt no pain, almost like I'd woken up from a shitty hotel! In all honesty, I felt like I'm abusing the system however I keep being quickly reminded how much I need to be here. Did I wake up so positive because I lived my old life for 16 hours over the weekend? Is it because I was hoping to hear a reasonably positive outcome with this lymphoma test? Probably a mix of both if I'm honest. But whatever it was, I was hopeful.

Adam came around at roughly 10:00am. Didn't really have much for me in terms of news but more of an outline of the day. If they hear the results of the test they were waiting on, they'd write me up a treatment plan ASAP and get chemo started this afternoon. At worst, I'd be starting it tomorrow (Tuesday). They just needed that definitive answer of what type of lymphoma I have - an answer I'd love more than anybody.

Either way, we agreed i'd need a PICC (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter) line in which basically is a long-term cannula. It runs from the inside of my arm right up and around and stops basically just outside my heart. This is for easy access for the chemotherapy and even an easy exit for blood tests - something that's proven incredibly difficult to take from me over the past few days. Additionally, these lines can last up to six months verses the three days you get from a cannula. There were too many positives to say no to!

This wasn't scheduled for any time in particular, so 1:00pm came around and I was about to be taken to get the PICC line in.

Just as I was about to leave, Adam came in with a few words I'm all too familiar with. "Well, the pathology tests we were waiting on have come back inconclusive..."

Woah. Wait. What? How do tests of my gall bladder that was removed six days ago come back inconclusive? How does one of the main sources not have enough 'data' to tell them what sort of lymphoma I have? I was just stunned.

Adam continued "As a result, we can see some signs of Burkitt's lymphoma and that's what we're going to treat you for. You're young. You should be able to handle it and it's better to over treat you than under treat and be stuck where we are at the moment. It's an intense 16-day chemo treatment that will totally wipe out your red and white blood cells as well as your platelets. We foresee you being in here for another 3-5 weeks, depending on how well your body goes getting these levels back up to normal post this first treatment..."

I honestly say this but that's all I remember from this conversation. I was hoping I'd be heading home this week but looks like that definitely won't be happening. Today marks day 40 of the past 55 days in hospital (day 15 of this stint) and if I go off the longest suggested time expected, I have another 35 days to go. That honestly crushed me.

I got taken down to get my PICC line in - quite an easy process. Very similar to putting in a larger cannula, just a whole lot longer and uses local anaesthetic as well as being guided by an ultrasound and X-ray. I'm lucky enough to have two ports, which will hopefully speed up some of my medication and how much they can pump in. Does it feel weird? The only weird part was feeling it slide down past and near my heart - but that's okay now!

By the time I return, dad made his was in to try and help process the news. We get Adam in to once again explain the process. In layman's terms, I'll be starting an intense and high-dose 16-day chemotherapy program kicking off tomorrow (Tuesday) morning. Most of the time across the next 16 days, I'll be hooked up via IV drip getting whatever medication is required. I think I saw I have rest days on days 7 & 8 which I suppose will give me two days to look forward to. At the end of the day, it's something I'm not certain on and will be a day by day process and constant learning about what's going into my body to help fight with me.

I do have one request for you all. With my body not producing red or white blood cells or platelets over the next few weeks, I do request if you are planning to visit however are sick to stay away those extra few days. With my immune system going to be at the lowest it's been, I don't particularly want to pick up something I don't need. Additionally, as much as I'd love flowers, they're also banned due to the infection risk of the spores mixing with the chemotherapy and causing some dangerous damage from the inside.

At the end of the day, if you're not sure please message me and check as I'm not entirely sure myself about everything. I'm constantly learning as I'm going.

How am I feeling? I'm nervous. I'm nervous at the unknown. How will this affect me? How bad am I going to feel? Will I lose my hair? What will my energy levels be like? In advance, I do apologise if over the next few weeks I'm not myself. Truth be told, that's because I probably won't be.

In a way, i'm finally excited to start my treatment first thing tomorrow morning (after yet ANOTHER lumbar puncture). I was so envious of both people next to me getting their first rounds of chemo today. I know mine will be intense but I just can't wait.

I've learnt so much about cancer and chemotherapy over the past four days and I know there's so much more to learn. Today I learnt I'll be incredibly highly cytotoxic, which basically means all needles and anything used on me need to go in a separate bin just for me. Additionally, I'll have to get used to the good old double flush after the toilet to ensure all waste is disposed of. Mouth ulcers are a big issue with most chemo patients as well. I'll have to start brushing my teeth after every meal and taking a special mouthwash 3x daily to assist with keeping these under control. There's plenty of other little things, but they're two I least expected.

Everything really hit me last night....not like it did tonight though. I just had twenty minutes to reflect and it just became a sudden realisation. What I'm going through is real. It's not a 'joke' anymore. It's not something they're looking at as a potential cause. It is the cause. I have a legitimate medical issue and it's finally time to fight lymphoma. All well and good to be talking the talk like I have been - it's now time to walk the walk. This sits well with me. If I give somebody my word, I do whatever I can to get it achieved. Unfortunately for the lymphoma throughout my body I've given it my word and it's time to fight it. Round one begins tomorrow morning.

I leave tonight feeling a whole lot better than I did when I started tonight's post. I didn't learn from my words earlier as Coldplay live from Argentina is still playing however I'm in a much more comfortable mind space.

My best friend of a lazy 20 years, Dylan visited tonight with his partner, Jacqui. One phrase popped up more than most and they made me aware it was a common phrase coming out of my mouth.

"It is what it is."

I can't control what's happened to me as "it is what it is." What I can control from here though is how I fight lymphoma. Thanks for the visit tonight guys, I appreciated the two hours spent here in what's been an incredibly tough afternoon.

Much love.

Juzz xx

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