ECLIPSE
Chapter Five
++++++
New Chances Clinic
Gaithersburg, MD
March 15, 2000
Cold reality is beginning to make him bitter.
They have had so many chances to conceive over the past three months.
Making love has become second nature to them; it fits him and Scully like
hand in glove. He has come inside her so many times, filling her womb with
sperm and this new, physical brand of love. They have become good at making
love, but they have to rely on a speculum and catheter to make a baby.
A few minutes ago, Dr. Parenti led them into the exam room, after telling
them that this was it. Oh, his words were much more professional and
sympathetic, but Mulder heard the truth behind them: if this doesn't work,
you'll have to give up hope of a child of your flesh and blood.
Scully hands him her blouse and pants, which he carefully hangs on the wall
hook. When he turns around, she has already donned her gown and fumbles
with the ties with trembling hands. Using the stepping stool as a foothold,
she climbs up onto the table, her legs dangling from the edge.
"Have you thought about the other options Dr. Parenti mentioned?" he asks as
he moves to stand before her.
She wrings her manicured hands. "Egg donation?" He nods. Without looking
up, she murmurs, "It wouldn't be my child."
"It would be our child," he stresses. "Even if it were my sperm and someone
else's ovum, the child would still be ours. You would carry and give birth
to it."
She cuts him off. "My body doesn't seem to want to accept an embryo."
"Scully." His voice rises. "If you've already decided that in-vitro won't
work, then why are we even here? The doctor said many couples go through
this procedure five or six times before it works."
"But this is our last chance."
"I know it is. If it doesn't work and you decide you still want a child,
we'll take a break and explore our other options. Donor eggs. Surrogates.
Adoption. This doesn't mean we won't have a child. It just means that we
won't do it in the traditional way." He reaches for her limp hand. "But if
you have this fatalistic attitude, then you're only setting yourself up for
failure. I know you, Scully, and you are not a quitter."
He doesn't expect her to reply, given the defeated expression on her face.
She looks away. "And if it doesn't work? Where does that leave us?"
"You and me?" She nods. Ire begins to churn in his gut as he realizes just
what she is asking. "You think I'm going to just give up on our
relationship if you don't get pregnant? God, Scully." He bites his lip to
keep from yelling. "Don't you have any idea how much I love you?"
The words seem to startle her. He has told her before, but she brushed him
off. Perhaps this time she realizes that he means it.
"I'm in this for the long haul," he continues. "I would have made the same
commitment to you even if you hadn't asked me to father this child, though
it might have taken me a lot longer to tell you."
She reaches up to place a hand on his shoulder, then draws him close. Her
warm, lush scent overcomes antiseptic. For the first time, she whispers, "I
love you too," then presses a kiss to his mouth, their lips brushing and
tripping over each other.
He feels alive, joyful, as if he might burst out of his skin. She loves
him. He has known this for some time, but saying the words makes it real.
As they kiss, her breath tickling his upper lip, the door opens and Dr.
Parenti chuckles. "Getting in the mood, are we?"
They break apart and Scully sits up straight, smoothing her gown. Mulder
can tell she is uncomfortable at being caught in the act, so to speak,
though kissing seems quite appropriate for two people who are about to try
again to conceive a child.
While the doctor and his assistants prepare Scully for the procedure, he
pulls over a chair so he can sit next to her.
The conversation will have to wait, as Dr. Parenti says, "Are we ready?"
"Yes," Scully replies, then catches Mulder's gaze. Her voice conveys
confidence, but he sees familiar fear in her eyes.
She settles back and he gives her a soft smile as the procedure begins.
++++++
Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, VA
April 2, 2000
Darkness is a great equalizer. It can hide, or comfort, or protect. For
Mulder, it serves all three purposes.
There is something consoling about being wrapped in its plush black velvet,
safe from the pain that lurks in the light. Maybe that's why he is so
comfortable with it. Or maybe it's easier to protect yourself from reality
when you can't see the things that hurt you.
How different the circumstances were a few weeks ago. A milestone reached
and whole-heartedly embraced. A future together. A family, something that
seemed to be out of the realm of possibilities just six months earlier. And
love. He made a fatal mistake that morning, clutching her cold hand in an
iron grip. He allowed himself to hope.
Now he lays in the dark, the muted light from the outside halogen lamps the
only concession to the night. The rough fabric of his sofa pillow is damp
with sweat and tears, abrasive even against an unshaven cheek. This cracked
leather couch has been his asylum for the past two days, and he dreads the
coming of tomorrow morning and work. He dreads seeing Scully.
Most of all seeing Scully.
Their final chance has failed, lost in a fatalistic swirl of blood and
tears. His grief has surprised him with its intensity, hitting like sucker
punch to the gut that leaves him winded and aching.
She has proved to be more stoic about it, her initial tears giving way to
calm acceptance. The knowledge should comfort him; she has gone through so
much that she deserves some measure of solace. Instead, it rankles, and he
holds that additional misery inside, letting it mix and ferment until he
fears he will explode.
Maybe her way is healthier, to put up a brave front, to tolerate the
limitations, to accept the hand life has dealt you and just move on. Maybe
it makes her happier in the long run, keeps her sane, lets her open her eyes
again each morning.
Or maybe she's just a better loser than he is.
He throws a forearm across his face, as though to press back the tears
stinging his eyes. It's amazing, he thinks, how easy it is to analyze
others' feelings and motives, but so much harder to do the same with your
own.
"Mulder...?" Keys clank restlessly as soft footsteps cross the floor,
tentative and almost wary in the cool darkness.
"In here," he sighs, peeling his body from the sticky leather to sit
upright. Fingers scrub at the final traces of wetness before dropping to
splay on the faded denim covering his thighs.
"I was worried." There is no censure in the words uttered from where she
stands, framed in the doorway. The street lamp spills its light across the
floor, illuminating the new lines and shadows imprinted on her face. "I
tried calling you, but you didn't answer."
He shrugs, hauling himself to his feet and crossing to look out the window
to the empty street below. "Sorry. I guess I didn't hear it," he manages
to choke out.
"Or didn't want to answer." Somehow, she is already beside him, her body
braced against him and her cheek pressed to his back.
She knows me well, he thinks, locking his knees against the trembling that
threatens to topple them both to the floor. He remains silent in her
embrace, watching as a lone car passes; the beams from its headlights sweep
across the blacktop like twin beacons. A small black cat is caught in the
moving shafts of light, its eyes glowing pinpoints of gold. For a few
seconds it is frozen in place, and he ceases to breathe until it turns and
scampers off into the shadows and safety.
"Come on. Sit down." She catches his hand, curling her fingers around his.
Hers are surprisingly warm, and he automatically returns the firm pressure,
feeling some of the tension leave his body as he allows her to pull him back
to the couch. "Everything will be all right," she whispers gently, pushing
back the few strands of hair stuck to his forehead.
Her gentleness is his final undoing and a new rush of wetness spills down
his cheeks like heated rain, dripping off the point of his chin to the
threadbare tee-shirt covering his chest. "I'm sorry," he repeats to the
floor, the words thick and full of remorse. He isn't sure if he is
apologizing for his weakness, or her worry, or the events which have so
inextricably bound them together.
She says nothing, but pulls him to her, coaxing his body to fold itself over
hers. Cradling his head against her warmth, she rocks him in slow tandem
with the heartbeats that thump under his cheek. He can feel her fingers
against his scalp, stroking through his hair as she murmurs soothing
nonsense that blends with the musical creak of leather and springs; a litany
of empathy that finally stills his tears.
Drained, he breathes in shuddering gasps that are muffled against her. The
front of her blouse is wet, clinging to her milky white flesh like a second
skin. He pushes his face into the vee of her neckline, nuzzling the hollow
that smells of almond soap and tears. His hand moves to fumble with a
button, pulling one free, then another, until the blouse lays open. He
lifts his head to look at her, letting her see the emotions that he's fought
so hard to hide.
She meets his gaze. "We're okay, Mulder," she murmurs, her eyes dark and
intense. One slender hand rasps through the pumice of his beard, curling
around his neck to ruffle the fine hairs at his nape. "This isn't
finished," she promises. And then she kisses him.
If she tasted of red before, now she is golden hope and redemption. Her
mouth is thick honey, warm caramel. Like cafe au lait, hot and sweet.
Tongues touching, renewing, reaffirming; recoloring his perceptions in a
kaleidoscope of sensations.
He feels her scrabbling for the hem of his t-shirt, hands skittering along
the skin at his waist until she clutches fistfuls of thin cotton. A sharp
tug, and the worn material gives, exposing his back to the cool air and
heated frenzy of her hands. Nails scrape along his spine, and over his
ribs, painting scratches on his skin. She is marking him, staking her claim
with the welts blooming in her fingers' wake, and he revels in it.
Claim me as I will claim you.
They twist on the slippery leather, discarding clothes with unconcealed
impatience. Soon she is whispering to him, words that make no sense over
the blood rushing in his ears. He tugs at the pebbled crown of her breast,
the flesh like bronze-tipped ivory in the faint glow from the windows. He
feels her humid gasp, hot as it rushes through the strands of hair she grips
so tightly.
They kiss again; darker, bittersweet kisses that melt like chocolate in the
heat. Frenzied kisses, teeth nipping, scraping, biting. He maps her
collarbone, tickles her skin with goose bumps as he sucks at the fragile
hollow of her throat. Staking his own claim with every wet stroke of his
tongue.
Poised over her, his cock heavy and engorged with blood, he stares at her.
Her head is thrown back, her hair a dark coppery spray against the muted
colors of the pillow. Eyes closed, kiss-swollen lips parted as she keens
the word 'yes' over and over in a voice clamorous with need. He wants to
keep this moment, to indelibly imprint her image in his memory so that he
will never forget. Visceral, primordial, more real to him than anything
else he has ever experienced.
This is love.
He rocks into her, slowly, slowly, sweat dripping from his face like tears.
The tight channel of her body is as accepting of him as her heart is. He
feels the clench of her muscles, holding and releasing, pulling at his penis
with its every thrust and retreat. Her body wraps around him, swallowing
him, her arms and legs anchoring them together as they move in perfect
symmetry, attuned in every way.
The movement of her hips becomes more urgent, and she drops a hand to where
they are joined, slipping fingers into her folds. He feels them brush
against his cock with every thrust until her body stiffens in climax, the
tiny contractions becoming stronger with every thrust of his body. She was
always beautiful to him, but never more so than now, her breath little more
than heated gasps, her mouth slack and wet and wanton.
This, too, is love.
When he comes, his whole body is alive with sensation, all feelings centered
on the seed spilling into her. They may never create a new life together,
but what they have is real and life-affirming. His cheeks once again wet
with tears, he feels the words erupt from him, forceful and true. "I love
you, Scully. Always."
And he begins to heal.
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END (5/8)
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