Any Steep and Blue Water (1/1)
"We were never meant to walk over water. We were meant to immerse ourselves and recall how to move." - Margot Schilpp
First Posted: April 2000
Category: S, M/S
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: R
Thank You: Shari, for quick catches
Feedback: Please and thank you. eviljesemie@yahoo.com

For Carrie.

- - -
Dusk sharpens the world into shadows but she is used to these hues, colors dripping darkly, falling closer.

The courtyard is small and slopes away from the back wall of the house. A grapevine arch twists around the entrance. Along the perimeter, old and tiny trees seem to be wired together by their frail ropy limbs. Dropped river stones form a path from the arch around an untouched pond to a single wooden bench, scruffy gray, against the red rough brick wall. The pond calmly mirrors the topless sky. Still clouds are thick and outlined by moon-glow, and between them stars spark without cadence.

This is the place she visits first, though from a distance of several feet, her bag on the ground. A light is on in the house, in one of the rooms in which she hasn't stayed, and she can hear dogs yipping happily, tossing themselves against the kitchen door.

She imagines that these things - the little illumination, the small rustling sounds of muted barks and scratches, the entire house's presence - do not interrupt the peace of the courtyard. It sits motionless. Even night wind, sneaking along the grass, does not pass its fingers inside the sanctuary.

She leaves her bag and steps through the arch. The cold air silvers her breath, makes her almost unbearably lonesome. Closer, the pond is a smooth sheer lapis scarf. She can see the very top of her hair reflected in it like a red carp slicing on the veneer; she waves, and her reflection's fingertips trail across the water without causing even the smallest ripple.

The week has rushed beneath her, a stiff rapid of adrenaline and fear. A falling. A bruise on her collarbone twinges. Exhaustion drapes over her shoulders. Her knees feel as though they may give soon, crumple her to the ground.

Even this small courtyard dwarfs her, could hide her for a long time in its dark.

"Scully?"

She turns toward the quietness of his voice.

"Mrs. Lauderdale says there are exactly two rooms left for tonight only. One of them is reserved tomorrow through the weekend."

"And the other?" she asks.

"Unreserved until sometime next week."

"Take that one."

He hesitates, a faltering in his eyes. "You aren't staying."

She blinks, and tears blur him momentarily. He brushes his thumb across the corner of her eye after stepping closer, closer. Before speaking, she touches his arm, the front of his jacket. She looks up at him finally.

"No, I am," she says softly.

He looks dejected and steps back. "Oh."

Somewhere, she is still falling, but she reaches out and touches his arm again, captures his hand and doesn't let go. "No, Mulder. We're both staying."

"Oh," he repeats after a minute, sounding moved beyond other words.

She walks the stone path backward past the pond to the house wall, bringing him with her. In the acoustical silence of the courtyard, on the weather-splintered bench, he kisses her so gently, so carefully that afterwards, leading him into the house, all she can think is that this is the only warmth she's ever wanted.

While he pays for the room, she stands in it, looking over the courtyard. The pond echoes only an outline of the window, the lattice shutters. Lighting a candle, she becomes a ghost in the distorted frame.

When he closes the door, she pulls the curtains shut, and she imagines her likeness being drawn slowly beneath the water, sinking into midnight slumber.

- - -
"Mrs. Lauderdale said to tell you they'll be serving that breakfast casserole she remembers you liked the last time we stayed here."

"The potato one with the three cheeses and the bell peppers?"

He shrugs. "Maybe."

Scully smiles. Her toes rub invisible streaks on the rug. "We're a couple of regulars, aren't we?"

Mulder hovers around the doorway, looking wary. "Yeah, I never realized I'd voluntarily go to Speed, Indiana twice."

She stops moving her feet and stands. "But we've now also been to Spirit, Indiana twice." She gestures to the room. Someone has decorated it in somber, solid navy. "This one's a lot larger than the room I stayed in last time." An enormous mirror adorns one wall.

"Larger than mine, too."

She takes their bags from him. Something occurs to her as she piles them in the closet. "What do you think happened to Clay Madison?"

"You know, I stopped here because you looked tired enough to fall into a coma."

"Did you answer my question?"

Mulder sits on the edge of the bed and rubs one eye. "I don't know."

"But you have a theory."

"Not anymore."

"Abandoned your water demon hypothesis?"

"I never said demon, per se."

"Water dragon. Whatever."

"I haven't abandoned it. I'm just... "

"Letting it soak?"

"Something like that."

"The investigation wasn't over."

"Tucker was getting ready to rat us out to Skinner. She had a snitchy look about her this morning."

"When I was taking a shower and digging lake scum out of my ears?"

"Yeah."

"You think Tucker was about to start complaining after what happened to us? And since when would you listen to local authorities?"

"We know these guys."

"Never stopped you before."

"I wasn't in the mood to pick a fight. Tucker knows what she's doing. Besides, she's convinced Madison skipped town. If she'd said it was over, it would have been anyway. This is okay for now."

Scully shakes her head. "I don't buy it. Why do I get the feeling you'll have returned to trespass on private property by 6 a.m. tomorrow?"

Mulder sighs irritably. "I won't."

"'A scientific breakthrough to rival Big Blue' - if we had proof of Big Blue - you said. We rented two cars. We interviewed fourteen mildly-panicked picnic witnesses. We came back to the middle of nowhere despite the fact that the last time we were here, you were convinced the surrounding hills held a series of haunted caves and the sheriff made such a fuss about our poking around that Skinner had us reimburse the Bureau for every last cent of the expenses." She stands directly in front of him, her hand tipping his chin up delicately. "We've spent two days slogging around a creepy, sludgy lake, getting pruny and pissing off Sheriff Tucker, who, considering, has really been pretty nice to us. She didn't threaten to shoot you this time, not once. So."

"So, what?"

"Why are we here? Why ditch the case right in the middle?"

He tries to shrink from her. "You got hurt." He says it to his hands, folded in his lap.

Scully almost touches her collarbone out of reflex. "I'm fine."

"You could have drowned."

"Mulder-- "

"It's true. You could have died because I was too stupid to get away from the water."

"What do you think, that I'd just let you drown? Get out and drive nineteen miles for help? Something pulled you under. Something rolled you on the floor of that lake and whatever the hell it was probably didn't intend to let go."

"But it did."

"What if it hadn't?"

"It came after you next."

"It didn't succeed, and you were in much greater danger-- "

"You're the one who got hurt. Scully, the first thing I saw after finally, finally surfacing was you being towed under. And I couldn't move. I couldn't catch my breath. I could barely keep my head above water."

"That's not getting hurt?" She changes her tone to playful, hoping. "We leave because you got the wind knocked out of you by an aquatic unknown?" His jaw is squared, but he's trembling, just slightly. She sits down beside him. "Do you think I wasn't terrified you were going to die in that lake?" she whispers. "I was."

He doesn't respond, but leans into her a little.

"You went under, and the water was furious, frothing. And I couldn't see you at all. And I couldn't not go in after you. There was just no way-- "

Her voice cracks.

"I know," he says, slipping his palm beneath hers.

The room falls quiet again, and heavy.

- - -
Funny that after all this time there should be shyness in any move they make near each other, that there should be anything timid or demure. He sits with his bare back against the headboard, watching her and not seeming to breathe.

Her slacks, blouse, and hose lay in a pile on top of his clothes under the window.

She walks gradually to his side of the bed. The candle on the table behind her burns low and dim.

His eyes fall to her throat, to the glimmer there. There is restraint and hunger in his expression, and she wants to unwrap him from his uncertainty and pajama bottoms. A smile teases at her mouth.

"Scully?" Mulder asks this once with hushed awe in his tone.

In answer, she climbs into the bed, straddling him gingerly. She cups the back of his head and finds his mouth with hers, kisses him until he finally begins to stroke the length between her shoulder blades, his hands warm and perfect.

Light flickering, falling.

He unhooks her bra and slips it from her, gently touching every hint of uncovered skin. He draws his fingertips along her hips, her ribs and stomach, the damp sweetness beneath her breasts. He pulls her against him, her head on his shoulder, and soothes her arms, the small of her back, the backs of her thighs.

She keeps her hands on his back, on his neck, in his hair, lets him stroke her and feels the flush left everywhere he marks. She pulls up and kisses him again, wanting to touch him, wanting everything.

He shakes his head. "Please."

His eyes are black with longing, and she finds herself unwilling to look away from his face even to kiss him. She raises up on her knees, hands braced on his shoulders. She watches him as he watches her climb off his lap and turn in his arms to sit in the V of his legs.

Darker.

His mouth in her hair, behind her ear, on her shoulder. He drags her panties off her hips enough to slide his hand between her legs. Her breath catches as he keeps touching her. She hears him swallow.

"I had-- I didn't-- God, Scully," he shudders. "I didn't know you'd be so soft," he whispers.

She twists now and kisses him, broken from the spell that kept her from touching him in return. "Please," she says, emulating his earlier request.

Then he is everywhere beneath her fingers, her palms, and his ministrations do not cease. Peripherally, she sees her reflection take him in her mouth, her hair tousled as though wavering underwater, his fingers tangled there. In lessening light he and she are polished golden against an indigo-painted screen. Later, she will watch his hand stroke the inside of her thigh again, her hand on his head, and she will close her eyes to try and dull the pleasure of his mouth between her legs, to slow somehow the maddeningly even pace, and fail.

Hours, and the candle melts and is extinguished before sleep.

- - -
"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

She rolls over to watch him jump around on one foot while putting on boxer shorts. "You've already taken a bath?"

He puts his hand on the wall for balance. "I was going to go down and get breakfast."

"Can you wait until I bathe too?"

"Can I watch?" He pauses until she quirks an eyebrow, then continues. "Actually, I was going to bring food up here. To eat."

Scully pushes her face into a pillow. "I don't think that's allowed."

"Ah."

"We could eat outside."

"Why?"

"It's a nice morning. I see you're not too concerned someone might be peeking in the window." Face-down in the pillow, she points her elbow toward the open curtains. "We could eat in the courtyard."

"I'll run you a bath," he says, and pads out of the room.

She curls on her side and yawns.

"Water's almost ready."

She rises from bed and walks into the bathroom. She turns off the tub faucet. "Mulder." He has left her toiletry bag on the sink, and she fishes out her toothbrush.

He sticks his head in the door while pulling a sweater over his head. "Yes?"

"We're going back to Speed," she says with her foamy minty mouth.

He isn't really paying attention now, his eyes on the sway of her body.

She rinses out the toothpaste. "We're going back today."

"Right."

The claw-foot tub is filled with now-immobile liquid, a sheen of bath oil swirled on the blue-reflective surface. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Want another bath?"

He squints thoughtfully. "Afraid there might be dragons in there?"

She kisses him on tiptoe. "Not really."

He makes a small sound that might be a squeak, and she smiles against his mouth. "I need some coffee."

He exits, and she takes her bath quickly.

By the time she's dried off, he's stripped down to boxers and has returned under the covers. Two cups of coffee steam on an end-table.

"Sleepy?" she whispers, crawling in bed beside him.

"Not really," he whispers back.

"Are we eating breakfast?"

His hand on her stomach, stroking.

"I am."

She gathers him to her. Her prayer this morning is soundless and long and she feels the tug of it in her chest, her hands.

"We should close the curtains."

She sprints out of bed and over to the window, glances at the dawned day. The courtyard looks immaculate. The field beyond the enclosure is sprawling and green. She pulls the shade closed, and in the courtyard the pond winks with new sun dancing at the edges.

"Good morning," she says to him, easing back into the bed, blankets around his hips like waves, his hot mouth on her collarbone.

Light through the curtains casts a sheer blue hue over them. Underwater, they hold each other in place, in the stillness unfalling, and learn to breathe there.

- - -
An End.

- - -
When I think of desire, it is in the same way that I do God: as parable, any steep
and blue water, things that are always
there, they only wait
to be sounded.
- from "Hymn", by Carl Phillips

- - -