Title: Into the Darkness, Gently
Author: Nat
Category: A, MSR of sorts, cross fic
Summary: A little slice of weirdness.
Disclaimer: They’re not mine, they’re I-don’t-care-about-continuity
Carter’s.
Spoilers: Anything’s fair game.
Feedback: Any and all feedback will be gratefully accepted and framed at
soccerdev1@aol.com.
Distribution: Gossamer, Ephemeral, yes.  Anywhere else please ask first.
Author note’s at bottom


Into the Darkness, Gently



She’ll give you the cross.

Accept it and let her soft hands clasp it around your neck.   When she
smiles and says to bring it back, you smile too.  You kiss her and
whisper promises into the paper soft nape of her neck.

And when she hugs you, you try not to realize that her bones feel like
chicken wire under your fingers.  Instead you move your hand across her
back and attempt to capture this moment in its entirety.  Try to ignore
the amused expression on the Gunmen’s faces.

She’s all that matters.

Treasure that single, dull tear that slides down her face.  Hope that
you’re looking through a fog and not tears of your own.

Don’t make any comments on ends or new beginnings.  You promised.

And when she stands on the street, waving, her hand looks tiny and weak
compared to the power of the thousands of stars glittering above her.
You lean forward for a moment and catch those capable hands in yours and
say goodbye.

You have forgotten that you never say goodbye, that it’s your form of
superstition.  Imagine cracked mirrors and black cats, realize that
superstitions are ridiculous.

But, as she whispers one cracked goodbye, you realize they’re safe too.

This isn’t goodbye a part of you is saying, not goodbye.  But, another
part is crying out farewell.


And the soundless cry seems to be louder than the cars on the streets
passing.  You wonder, as you leave for the last time if it’s always
going to be that way.


-                                           -                                      -                                -

Just hold her.

Forget that the world rages on outside. Forget that this is on the verge
of impossibility.

Hug her just a little tighter, curling your fingers around her ribs.
Thinner than you remember, harder, bonier. Feel the smooth, rippling
satin of her pajamas move under your palm.

And when she wakes up, sleep still lingering in her eyes, remain calm.

"Mulder?"

"Shh go back to sleep," whisper into the crinkled part of her ear.

And allow yourself to smile when she slips back into sleep, as if there
is nothing odd about waking up in your arms.

In five years promises are broken and forgotten, people love and  move
on, careers are made. But, you still remember her face.

At first your finger touching her bare skin is nothing more than a hiss
of flesh against flesh. Then, growing more confident your hand moves
down, caressing her face.

The top half of her face is inearthed in a stripe of chocolate mousse
darkness that cuts across the bridge of her nose. Small and straight her
nose leads down to a tiny hollow above her her lips.  You remember that
hollow, how it would fill with sweat and drip down to her thin, elegant
lips.

Your finger rubs her lips, trembling slightly as she sighs. Leaning
closer, your cheek against hers, you can feel her soft, light hair
brushing your face.

Barely daring to breathe you lift up the covers and tentatively slip
under them. Your head comes down on her hair, lying in a curly mass over
the pillow. Your lips find their way to the curve of her neck, and
marvel at the emptiness there.

Time passes. You check your watch. One hour left. One hour of
perfection, one hour of counting her breaths, instead of sheep.  One
hour of listening to her heart and its barely audible thump.

But, it passes all too quickly. Stumbling awkwardly out of bed you emit
a muffled curse. And then you turn around, padding away softly, a
solitary specter.

But, before you leave you pause. And turn.

Your hands feel unwieldy as they grasp at the tiny, golden clasp.
Outside slivers of pink and yellow light are breaking through the fog.

Faster now, less carefully, you run to her side and lift up her neck,
moving it with fingers stiff and full of apprehension.

And as the door clicks behind you daylight peeks through the room,
falling in brilliant streaks across her bed. And the cross glints
brightly in the sudden light.



-                                       -                                                    -               -


I know the time for post Requiem fic has come and gone, but with the way
my muse has been acting recently just writing a few sentences was a
break-through.

Thanks and toe-kissing to my amazing beta team of Ikkle, Emily, and
Squirrel.  How did I get so lucky?

~Nat
Soccerdev1@aol.com


To read more of fic visit my page, maintained by the fabulous Fran58:
http://www.crosswinds.net/~fran58/authorspgs/nat/nat.htm