I've seen him mourn me ever since he told me to leave. And in return I've
haunted him like a ghost, never letting my memory fade from the complex wiring of
his brain. I know how good he is at pushing the important stuff—like his life—aside, letting work overtake everything. But not this time. I wanted him to
think about me... us. And he did. Every night. And every goddamn torturous minute
of every day.
So here I am, taking the biggest chance of my life. I've decided that it's now
or never—Mulder is either going to tell me to leave for good or welcome me
back. I can't take it anymore. I don't want to be a spectator in his life. Or
let mine pass me by as it has for the past 30 or so years. And if I have to give
him an ultimatum, then so be it.
But I'm so fucking frightened. You know, a guy can try to kill me with a gun or
knife and I'm barely bothered by it. I know my own physical strength. I can
take care of myself when it comes to staying alive. But Mulder is holding my
heart in his hands and I'm scared to death he'll squeeze the love out of it and
leave me alone in this world. Just the thought of him turning me away again
because of his stupid, stubborn pride makes me shiver. The "what ifs" just leave
too much to my morbid imagination.
But I'm standing at his door, and if I don't do this now, I don't think I ever
will. A rush of desire and something I never usually feel—hope—make me
courageous for an instant. Before I realize it, my knuckles tap gently on the
dark wood. I lean my ear against the smooth surface, and I hear a slight rustle
from inside. I panic. I should leave now. I'm crazy if I think he'd admit
anything to me. He'll just tell me I'm a psychopath, he'll... just hurt me more,
like he's always does.
My mind is racing. I try to fool myself by thinking //he's probably asleep, he
was just shifting on the couch// and I turn to walk down the hall. But it's too
late. He's definitely awake because I can hear the door opening slowly behind
me. And Mulder obviously sees me because he says, "Alex." I stop myself from
running down the hall and out of the building. His voice tears at me and
comforts me at the same time. I don't—can't—turn to him, and squeeze my eyes
shut as if that alone could keep him out of my heart.
I start to babble, keeping my face turned towards the floor. Even with my eyes
closed I can see his face in my head, looking at me as if I was losing my mind.
I tell him that I've been waiting, giving him time, and hoping for a second
chance. I say that I'll understand if he wants me to leave, but that I know it's
not what he really wants. It's not what I want. I want him. And this is the
last time. If I leave now, it's forever...
He puts his hand on my shoulder, spins me around, and pulls me into his arms. My
cheek is pressed to his and his hands are in my hair. We stand there in the
hallway for an eternity, just feeling the weight of each other in our arms. His
grip is tightening on me by the second, and I gently push him in the direction of
the doorway. My lips are beside his ear, brushing the lobe as I whisper, " Let's
get out of the hallway."
Mulder releases me, except for my hand, which grasps tightly in his sweaty palm,
and we move into his apartment. As soon as the door shuts, he encloses me in the
comforting circle of his arms again. He begins to murmur, telling me how he's
felt since I left, how much he's missed me, how sorry he is. As I hear his
words, everything I've been holding in—the tension, the emotions, the
frustrations—come pouring out, leaving me feeling peacefully empty—as if I'm
weightless. But his warmth and the slow burning of desire soon fill this
emptiness with something infinitely better.
It's as if I can see an end to all this, and I feel like it can actually work—I
can be with Mulder. His arms can pull me from the dark density of my life
and lift me up into the light. And at some point I start crying because Mulder's
words change, consisting of "shhhhs" and "We're together now" and "Let it out,
Alex." I tell him about my watching him at night. That I wanted to hate him for
what he did but couldn't. That whatever he does to me, I still seem to love him
more and more.
He leads me to the couch, keeping his arm around my shoulders. We sit together
for a while, not really talking, just petting and soothing with hushed words and
whispered secrets. I've never felt so... calm. Peaceful. And somewhere deep in my
mind I hear a voice that tells me that this is madness, that it will never last.
But I push it back. I don't want to hear that voice again. It's always told me
what to do and what to believe. But now I know what I want, and it's easier to
believe in this immense sweetness than in the bitterness that has held me for so
many years. I'd rather be in the arms of this angel of a man beside me, living
truthfully, honestly, for once than running for my life, evading all hope of
happiness.
I open my eyes to look at him, really look at him, and I see so much reflected
back at me. So much more than I ever hoped. Desire. Relief. Even... love. I
touch the slight depression in his chin, then trail my finger around each curve
of his lips. He's so beautiful, and I feel like this is our first time. Except
this time it's going to be slow and sweet as honey. Not rough and tumble fucking
like we used to do.
I lean closer and run my tongue where my fingers were. His lips are salty and I
can't decide if it's from sunflower seeds or tears. I shift back to search his
face, and I see telltale tracks down his cheeks. I feel so close to him now.
Reaching for his hand, I twine my fingers with his.
Our eyes stay focused on each other as we move closer, inch by inch, until our
lips meet. The kiss seems so chaste, so pure. I continue to watch him as he
closes his eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheek softly. He deepens the kiss
slowly, sucking my lower lip into his mouth. I feel the slight nip of his teeth
into the soft skin, then the sweet lap of his tongue over the hurt. I want to
close my eyes, revel in just feeling him, but I can't. I need to see him as he
loves me.
I push my tongue to meet his, delighting in the silky slide of it over my own. I
feel as if I have all the time in the world—nothing exists except for this
kiss. I unwind my fingers from his and smooth my hand over the short hairs at
the nape of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to me. I want to memorize
every surface of his mouth and every taste of him. I let my tongue wander over
his teeth, running it over the sharper edges. He pushes my chest slightly and
pulls away, taking a deep breath before moving back in. But I dodge his lips and
latch onto his chin, sucking at the stubbly skin. He arches his neck, inviting
my kisses there. I follow the line of his throat, stopping every so often to
nibble where my lips have been. I can hear his whimpers, and I know now exactly
what I want.
I want to take off his clothes, then mine. I want to lay in his bed with him and
relearn his body, touching him everywhere. I want to know every pleasure point,
from the whorls of his ears to the soles of his feet. I want to know him—everything about him. And I want to hold him to me and take him away from all of
this mess.
I drag myself away from him and start to stand. I see a slight panic when he
opens his eyes. But when I shrug off my jacket, he understands. He stands
before me and starts to unbutton my shirt. He kisses my chest when it is
exposed, pressing his fingers into the skin beside his lips. He brushes the tip
of his finger against a nipple, and I inhale sharply. He stands upright again
and smiles at me. I can't help but smile back. I love this man so much, and... I
know now that he returns that feeling. I never expected that. He nods his head
towards the bedroom and takes my hand as he turns. I follow him, watching the
slight grace with which he carries himself, his lean hips moving smoothly in his
jeans.
Yeah, I know what I want, and I know I'm going to get it. This may be madness,
but I don't care. I have all I'll ever need right here.
Angel
by Susan
I've waited. And I've watched.
