TITLE:  Flashback
SPOILER STATEMENT:  Field Trip; Milagro; One Son
RATING:  NC-17
CONTENT STATEMENT:  M/S married.  Post-Field Trip -- here there be
hallucinations.  MulderAngst, ScullyAngst -- oh yeah.
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
SUMMARY:   Post-ep for "Field Trip".  A "Making It Personal" story. 
Mulder and Scully are back from their near-death experience in North
Carolina, and all is well.  But not everything is as it seems ....
THANKS:  To Brynna, Robbie, Shannon, Sara Lynn, Sharon & Trixie
 
 

Flashback

by Brandon D. Ray
 

I awake in the pre-dawn darkness, and Mulder's hands are already on me. 
I smile sleepily, but I don't open my eyes, nor do I make any move to
turn over and face him.  Not yet.  I want to enjoy his touch for a
little while first.

There is a game we've invented in the short time we've been together, a
game in which we neither speak nor see.  We explore each other's flesh
by touch and taste and scent, gradually building our mutual arousal to a
fever pitch, until finally we join our bodies in a sweaty explosion of
sensation and desire.  In just a few weeks this game has resulted in
some of the most profoundly emotional sexual experiences of my life. 
And this morning I feel like playing.

When we finally returned from North Carolina late last night, we were
both exhausted.  The emotional stress of those horrifying
hallucinations, coupled with the physical trauma of nearly being
ingested by a giant fungus, had worn us down.  So when at last we
arrived at my apartment we didn't even bother to unpack.  We simply
stripped off our clothes and fell into bed, with no thought of anything
but getting a good night's sleep.

But that was last night.  This morning I, for one, am feeling remarkably
rested and refreshed -- and judging from what just brushed against my
butt, Mulder is doing better, too.  I give a contented sigh and move a
little closer, so he'll know that I'm awake.  But still I do not open my
eyes.

Mulder's fingertips begin drawing an intricate pattern on my back,
touching here, rubbing there, even pinching in a few spots, very
gently.  To an outsider his motions might seem random and unplanned, but
I know better.  Even though we've only been lovers for a very short
time, already he has more intimate knowledge of my body than any other
man has ever had, and he knows exactly what he's doing.

Now the fingers of one hand are tracing the length of my spine,
beginning at my neck and sliding slowly downwards, thoroughly exploring
each vertebra before moving on to the next.  His other hand is resting
lightly on my waist, his fingers splayed out to tickle and caress my
hipbone.  Already I feel the familiar, welcome dampness between my legs,
and I shift my hips backwards again, pressing myself against his erection.

Finally his fingers reach the small of my back, stroking and caressing
the sensitive spot which I have long since come to think of as his.  At
the same instant, his lips touch the juncture between my neck and
shoulder, and an electric shock jolts through my body, as if a circuit
has just been completed.  I arch my back and moan, very softly, and I
angle my head to expose more skin to his ministrations.  And for just a
moment I am lost in a sea of passion ....

I can no longer remain passive; the desire has grown too strong within
me, and I need to touch him, to taste him, to feel his skin beneath my
hands.  Eyes still shut, I turn in Mulder's embrace, wrapping my arms
around him and pulling him close against me.  I rub my body against his,
desperate for more contact, and I feel him respond as he arches his hips
to press his erection against my belly.  My face is buried in the hollow
of his neck, and I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with him and with the
mingled scent of our arousal.

I begin to explore his shoulder and chest with my lips and tongue and
even teeth, nipping and biting and licking.  His skin is warm and salty,
with an overlay of flavor that's uniquely his.  I feel his arms tighten
around me as I stake my claim, my mouth browsing further down across his
chest.  At last I close my lips around one of his nipples, gently biting
down ... and he shudders, and moans.

Mulder, of course, has not been idle.  One of his hands is now cupping
my left buttock, holding my pelvis tight against him and pressing my
center against his thigh.  The other hand continues to stroke and caress
my lower back, each touch adding more fuel to the need that burns within
me.

Finally I can wait no longer.  I roll onto my back, drawing my husband
down on top of me and cradling his hips between my thighs as I wrap my
legs around his waist.  My center is on fire, and I cup the back of his
head with one hand, pulling his mouth to mine for a savage kiss.  My
other hand reaches between us to capture his erection and guide it
towards its goal.

The head of his cock brushes against my outer lips, and I hiss with
pleasure as my hips arch upwards to meet him.  I realize in that instant
that I need to see him, to watch his expression as he enters me.  I
break the kiss.  My eyelids flutter open, and I look up --

-- straight into the eyes of Phillip Padgett.

#          #          #

For a timeless moment I hover over her, staring down at her face in
shock.  I am poised, ready, the tip of my erection actually pressing
against her entrance, ready to plunge inside her.  All it would take
would be one sharp thrust and I'd be sheathed within her softness.  Just
one thrust ....

But this isn't who I ought to be making love to; it's supposed to be my
wife.  It's supposed to be Scully.  Scully is the one I can rely on;
she's the only one I can trust and care for and love.  She's the one who
was with me in North Carolina.  She's the one who nearly died alongside
me in the dark.  And she's the one who knew without having to look that
I was reaching for her hand as the ambulance carried us away to safety.

I close my eyes again and try to think, but the thrum of my arousal
makes it difficult.  This woman lying under me and wrapped around me
must be Scully.  She feels like her and tastes like her and smells like
her.  She knows all our secret touches, our special intimacies and
private rituals.  I don't see how she could be anyone but Scully.  I
don't see how she can be ....

I open my eyes again.

Diana.

Abruptly I push myself off of her and try to climb out of bed.  I have
to get away from this; I have to get away from *her*.  I don't know what
happened or how I got into this situation, but I have to get away, I
have to find Scully.  I need Scully.  But Diana reaches out and grasps
my wrist with surprising strength and holds on tight.

"Fox!" she says sharply, anger and frustration now evident in her
voice.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I try to pull away again, but her grip remains strong -- unbelievably,
inhumanly strong.  At last I give up struggling and acquiesce, allowing
her to drag me back across the bed.  I can't resist, and I discover to
my distant horror that a large part of me doesn't even want to resist.

But I have to try.  I have to.  For Scully, if not for myself.  I feel
tears forming in my eyes as I try to hold back, and finally I begin
whispering her name, as if it were a talisman:  "Scully.  Scully. 
Scully. Scully."

"Fox!"  Diana's voice cuts through my mantra, drawing my focus back to
her face.  There is anger in her eyes, but I can see she's trying to
hold it in; she's trying to project caring and compassion.  But even I
can see it's a facade.

"Fox," she says, more gently than before.  "Fox, you have to let her
go.  You have to accept what happened.  You remember, don't you?"

I shake my head, but whether from denial or from honest lack of memory,
even I cannot say for sure.

Diana reaches up and strokes my cheek.  "She wouldn't come with us,
Fox.  She didn't trust us.  She didn't trust *you*.  She was always that
way -- denying what you knew was true, doubting you, contradicting you. 
Holding you back."  She draws my head down for a gentle kiss.  "I know
you cared for her, Fox, but she made her choice.  At least now she isn't
suffering anymore."  And she kisses me again, and despite the agony in
my soul, I feel my body begin to respond.

For an instant I feel as if I'm outside myself, watching as I settle
down between her thighs again, watching as she once more wraps her legs
around my waist and draws me closer.  Then her hand reaches down between
us, lightly grasping me, bringing me back and sending a jolt of pleasure
through my cock and up my spine as she urges me gently forward.

I see the passion and hunger on her face as I hesitate for one more
moment.  This is wrong, and somewhere deep inside I'm screaming that
it's wrong, but I can no longer help myself.  Her fingers are stroking
and caressing my shaft and balls, and the tip of my cock is nudging past
her outer lips as I move slowly downward and forward and inward.

And then with one quick thrust I'm all the way inside.

#          #          #

He enters me with one smooth stroke, sending waves of pleasure racing
through my body.  My hips arch up to meet his thrust, and my fingernails
dig into his shoulders as I try to draw him closer.  My doubts and
reservations of a moment ago are gone, like dead leaves in the autumn
wind, and all I want to do is feel.

He begins to move within me, drawing slowly out until only the head
remains, then easing back in with a tender gentleness that makes me
ache.  He pauses at the bottom of the stroke to place a gentle kiss at
the corner of my mouth -- and then he begins again.

I am transfixed; overwhelmed.  My thoughts are slow and sluggish, but
for once I just don't care.  This is what I want; this is what I need. 
I've been lonely for so very long.  So empty.  So bereft.  So lost. 
This man is my deliverer; this act is my salvation.

Deep inside a small part of me is screaming, insisting that this is
wrong, so very wrong.  This is not where I should be, or who I should be
with.  This man is a stranger; he doesn't truly know me or understand
me.  He's not the one I love and trust; he never was and never can be. 
He's not my man.  My Mulder.  My husband.

Even as I think those words the pace of our lovemaking increases, and
again my doubts are swept away.  I'm awash in a sea of passion, far out
of sight of land, beyond all thought of turning back.  Everything seems
clean and fresh and bright and new, and I feel myself being lifted up
and up and up on tides of ecstasy.

And I want more, so very much more.  I tighten my arms and legs around
him, urging him onward:  harder, faster, deeper.  My eyes are tightly
shut, my face pressed hard against his shoulder, my breathing sharp and
shallow.  I'm so close, so close.  Just a few more seconds.  Just a few
more strokes.  I arch my hips upward, seeking my release, meeting his
downward thrusts in perfect synchrony.  Soon, soon, soon ....

I feel his body quiver, and I force my eyes to open as I realize that
the moment is here at last.  I lift my head from his shoulder, ready to
drink in his essence and mingle his orgasm with mine.  I see his face
only inches from my own, and eagerly I lock my gaze with his ....

But there is no emotion there, no engagement, not the slightest sign of
joy or even pleasure.  There's nothing behind those eyes.  No thought. 
No feeling.  No soul.  Not the smallest trace of human contact.

I am alone.

My facade of wholeness falls away, and once again I am bereft and in
despair.  I want to cry, but I cannot.  I want to scream, but I cannot. 
I want to rage and shriek and bellow my grief and anguish, but I
cannot.  In this eternal moment all I can do is meet his thrusts, and
match his movements with my own.  All I can feel is my physical
response, devoid of meaning.  All I know is what I see ....

All in an instant it hits me like a lightning bolt. This is false and
untrue; this is impossible.  Phillip Padgett is dead, and even while he
lived I didn't want him.  There was no spark, no attachment, no
commitment.  There was no love or caring or concern.  No passion or
devotion.  This is a shadow, a trick, a lie.

A hallucination.

And he turns yellow, and he glistens --

#          #          #

-- and all at once she melts away.

I collapse on the bed, exhausted, distantly aware that I'm still cradled
betweeen a woman's thighs and buried deep within her body.  I try to
pull back, I try to withdraw, but she will not allow it, and after  a
moment I lie still in her intimate embrace.

"Mulder?"

Her voice is soft and hesitant, so much so that at first I can't be sure
I've heard it.  Her voice is what I want to hear, and she is who I want
to see.  And so of course it isn't true.

"Mulder, it's me."  This time her voice is a little stronger -- but
still I can't bear to look.  I want it to be her so very much; I want to
be safe in her bed and in her arms.  But I'm afraid; I'm so afraid ....

"Mulder, it's okay," she says, and something touches my cheek,
featherlight.  Her lips.  I feel a surge of energy and desire, but not
even that is enough to overcome my fear.  Not even that.  "Mulder,
please open your eyes," she whispers.  "Please look at me."

I don't want to refuse her.  A very important part of me *can't* refuse
her.  I know she needs this, and I even know and somehow accept that she
needs *me*, as impossible as that sometimes seems.

But I'm so afraid.

But she needs me.  And I need her.

I'm afraid.

I need her.  I want her.  I love her.

I can't live without her.

The fear is gone.

My eyelids flutter open, and I force myself to look.

It's Scully.

"Yes, it's me," she says, smiling through the tears I hadn't known that
she was shedding, and I realize I must have spoken her name aloud.  Both
of her hands are on me, touching me, feeling me, proving to herself and
to me that I am real -- and my hands are doing the same to her.  Her
fingers brush her lips, and then my own, and in hushed tones of joy and
wonder she whispers, "And it's you."

"Yeah, Scully, it's me," I reply, as her fingers continue to trace the
outline of my lips.  I lower my forehead to rest against hers, and
continue, "It happened to you, too, didn't it?"  I know it did; I've
known since the instant Diana began to melt.  But still I feel a need
for confirmation.

"Yes, Mulder," she replies.  "It happened to me."  She kisses me gently
on the mouth, and when she speaks again her voice is a little stronger. 
"But it wasn't real; it was just a residual effect.  There must have
been some poison left in our systems, and now it's over.  It's over, and
we're still here.  And we're still together."

She kisses me again, and this time I return the kiss.  Our tongues meet,
touching and caressing and sliding past each other with an urgency which
wasn't there only seconds before.  I feel her shift slightly beneath me,
and I know what she wants -- I know, because it's what *I* want, and
need, and have to have.

Reassurance.  Validation.  Affirmation.

Her arms go around me, pulling me closer.  Her legs tighten around my
waist, drawing me deeper.  Our eyes stayed locked on each other, holding
our connection as our hips begin to move, driving us higher.

Already her body is trembling, and so is mine.  This won't take very
long; not very long at all.  Our need for each other is so great, so
overwhelming, and our desire is so intense ... and when we're done, we
will be better than we were before.

Because that which does not destroy us makes us stronger.
 
 

Fini