Title: Anahata* Author: Cassandra E-mail address: cassandr@sprynet.com Feedback: You betcha. Distribution: Wherever is fine, as long as this header stays with the story. I'd appreciate if you sent me a note with the URL though, so I can see the site. Spoilers: "all things" Rating: R (for gratuitous nudity and implied sexual content) Classification: MSR Keywords: MSR, post-ep Summary: Another in the spate of "all things" fanfic filling in the "gap." Disclaimer: I don't care what CC and 1013 and FOX say. *This* Mulder and Scully belong to David Duchovny and, especially, Gillian Anderson. *Anahata: Hindu term for the heart chakra ANAHATA by: Cassandra It was dark in Mulder's apartment when Scully awoke. The light from the aquarium cast an odd, wavering, bluish-green tint across the room. She watched the small UFO bob up and down gently in the tank, and smiled. It was so perfectly Mulder. She shifted and became aware of the weight of the blanket on her. Not just laid on top of her, but tucked carefully around her, cocooning her. The warmth that filled her came as much from the demonstration of his gentle concern as from the heat of her body. She wondered how long she had been asleep. It couldn't have been for too long, she thought. And yet, she was no longer tired. She remembered being so drowsy as they had finished talking, unable to keep her eyes open, his voice and the herbal tea soothing her into a state of peace. With the stress and confusion of the past two days gone, it had been so easy to drift into slumber, knowing that she was safe and protected and where she was supposed to be. Now, though, she was awake, wide awake. Dimly, she heard the low, muffled sounds of a television from his bedroom. He was awake, too. She felt it. Pushing the blanket aside, she rose from the sofa and made her way toward his bedroom, her nylon-clad feet noiseless on the wooden floor. His door was halfway open, and as she approached, she saw him. He was standing in front of the dresser, looking through a drawer, his back to her, completely naked. She had seen him naked and nearly naked before, but not like this. Not when they were alone and healthy and free from danger. Not when her body hummed with life and energy. Not when she was being pulled toward him by a force she could neither name nor deny. The blue light from the television flickered across his body, making the skin glow smooth, creating shifting planes and shadows as he moved. God, he was beautiful. She had known it, but now the knowledge consumed her. His back was exquisite, a perfect sculpture of muscle and sinew, tapering to a slim waist and the rounded curves of his buttocks. Time moved around them with the sweet, languid flow of molasses. She heard no sound from the television anymore, just the pushing beat of her heart, the rush of blood through her veins. He bent over, stepping into a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, sliding them up long, strong legs. She took a step toward him, then another, unconscious of moving, knowing only that she was getting closer. She must have made some sound -- or perhaps he simply felt her presence -- because he turned then, looking startled and slightly embarrassed. Time caught up with her, moving back to normal. "Scully. I didn't mean to wake you. Do you need something?" "Yes." Her voice was soft but clear as she continued her path. He stayed still, transfixed, the moment lengthening. She was standing close in front of him now. His eyes were wide and dark, the pupils dilated in the dim light so that barely any of the hazel showed. She put a hand on his bare chest and he sucked in his breath. She felt the warmth radiating into her palm, the fast but steady beat of his heart. Strong. She closed her eyes and let the rhythm move into her, merging with her own, different, overlapping, but gradually becoming indistinguishable. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, searching, questioning, the full power of his single-minded intensity concentrated on her. She let him see all that he could, all that there was to see. There were no barriers, no walls. She was still fully clothed, but she knew that she had never been more exposed, more naked to anyone. And she wasn't afraid. It was heady, exhilarating. It was freedom. It was right. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Scully ... are you sure?" His voice was low, husky, and moved down her spine like the touch of a finger. "Yes," she said again, matching his soft, breathless tone. She felt as much as saw his body relax. There seemed to be nothing else to say, then. She stretched upward and he leaned down, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head, and their lips were upon each other, warm, wet and consuming. She felt as if her body could no longer contain her, as if what was welling up within her would expand to fill the room. The gentle depth of his kiss sent waves of warmth cascading through her body. *This* was what she had been missing. The thought of how long she had denied herself -- had denied *them* -- this exquisite connection drove her to escalate the kiss, to crush her body against his. There would be no more denial. They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart. She caressed his face, feeling the scratchiness of his five o'clock shadow against the softness of her fingers and palm. Letting her hand fall, she stepped back slightly and slowly removed her jacket. Very deliberately, she folded it once along its length and laid it on the foot of his bed. She glanced back up at him and had to smile at the rather awe-struck confusion on his face. He looked as if someone had just presented him with the thing he most desired in the universe, and yet he couldn't dare to believe it. Even in the dim light, she could see the joy and befuddlement battling on his face. She sat down on the end of the bed and held out her hand. He stared at it for a moment, then looked searchingly at her face again. She smiled and then, suddenly, with a deep exhalation and a grin that seemed to light the room, he took her hand and sank down onto her, pressing her back onto the softness of the mattress. * * * * * "I have a confession to make, too." His voice was thick, his words sliding together in a tumble of syllables. He lay underneath her, one arm cradling her close to his chest, the other hand stroking gently up and down her arm. Their legs were entangled, both in each other's and the blankets. "Ummm?" The drowsiness of before was returning to her. Her body felt weightless and heavy all at once. She never wanted to move again. "Didn't really care about the crop circles. Stupid farmers. Didn't even stay to see if anything happened." He yawned widely. "Just an excuse." "Excuse?" Somehow her mind wasn't quite grasping the significance. "Ummm-hmmm. Wanted to take vacation. Show you Oxford. Sleeping bags in field." "Silly. Why didn't you just say so?" She had forgotten about the sweetness of the lethargy afterward, the complete sense of unity and contentment. The absence of worry and cares. Or, more accurately, perhaps she had never really known it. "You wouldn't have come. Didn't anyway. Stupid plan." He gave a mostly unsuccessful attempt at a shrug. "Worked out better, though." She opened her eyes slightly. "You wanted to seduce me?" "No." He was silent for a moment. "Maybe." She tried to process this information, but it seemed like too much work. Urrrrrgh. "We have to go to work tomorrow." "Ummm-hmmm." His caresses on her arm were getting slower. "Never finished the paperwork on the Szezesny autopsy." "Ummm?" "Have to go home and change clothes." "OK." He yawned again. "OK," she echoed, her voice trailing off. Then they were still. * * * * * She thought that she should look different. With everything that had happened in the past two days, she thought that she should be able to look into the bathroom mirror and see the changes on her face. There should be some sign, something to show the world that she wasn't the same person. But she looked exactly the same. It felt the same to splash water onto her face. The sensation of the towel against her skin was the same. She went through the same motions to pull on her shirt, to zip up her skirt, to smooth her hair. How strange, she thought as she walked back into the bedroom. There was nothing to indicate the changes that had taken place within her, no evidence at all. And yet she knew they were real, as real as the results of any test. She picked up her jacket from the foot of his bed -- how had it not fallen to the floor last night with the rest of her clothes? -- and shrugged into it, smiling ever-so-slightly at the view in front of her. Mulder had mumbled sleepy protestations when she slipped from his arms, and she had been sorely tempted to give in. She wanted nothing more than a leisurely morning in bed with him. But there would be other mornings, mornings when she did not have to go home for a change of clothes. Mornings just for themselves. He had shifted since she had left his side, pulling the covers around him to make up for her absence. He looked perfectly at peace. And why shouldn't he? He had come to no earth-shattering revelations, did not feel anything that he had not felt before he left for England. The only thing different for him was that he had something she now knew he had wanted for a long, long time. She left him, sleeping the sleep of the sated and the jet-lagged, and went to her apartment, knowing that in a few hours she would meet him at work and they would dance their usual dance, only this time to a slightly different tune, one whose rhythms would extend from the office back to that apartment and that bed. And she knew in her heart that all things were now as they should be. The End