TITLE: Stitches AUTHOR: Avalon RATING: PG for a hint of adult content SPOILERS: Set during "Essence." All else is fair game. CATEGORY: VMSR, a smidge of angst DISCLAIMER: Oh, how I wish they were mine, but alas, they belong to CC. No money being made here, folks. FEEDBACK: It rocks. Please send it and make my day. I'll write back, too. ARCHIVE: Spooky's, Gossamer, Ephemeral...you want it, take it. But please let me know...I like to know where all my children are at the end of the day. SUMMARY: It takes time to heal, both body and soul. AUTHOR'S NOTES: At the end, please. STITCHES The pounding on her door isn't wholly unexpected. She seats him at the kitchen table, no questions asked, as Doggett hovers nearby. Digging her first aid kit from the cabinet by the stove, she eyes the bleeding cut at his temple. It is deep, running claret streamers down his familiar, handsome face. She swabs the blood away, fascinated as the thick dressing soaks it up, imagining all the tissues that absorbed her tears over the years. Something clutches in her gut, a sensation deeper than the reassuring blips inside her uterus, a fear unconnected to the baby that grows inside her. // How many times? How many times will he be hurt? How many times will I have to bear this? // He regards her impassively and dry-swallows the two Tylenol she offers. His eyes are hypnotic earth tones, mossy loden and mellow honey beneath her glaring fluorescent lights, and she has to shift her gaze to keep from becoming lost in them. She can still hear the messages he sends to her, the words as clear as if he were speaking aloud. < I'm sorry. I don't mean to worry you. > The first stitch sinks into his skin, and he winces. She pulls the thread taut and presses her lips together. // I can't keep doing this, Mulder. // He blinks to acknowledge her response. She turns the needle and absently wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. Splaying her left hand on his head to steady him, she makes her return stitch with fingers that tremble ever so slightly. < I do this for you, Scully. You and the baby. > How is it they can do this, communicate without words? How is it that they know each other so well? Eight years of partnership, seventy-two hours of intimacy, three months of death separating them... She cannot dwell on it. It is its own X- File, enigmatic and inexplicable, but it is her life with him, and she cannot deny it. She huffs out a breath and tugs a little too sharply on the thread. He matches her exhalation with one of his own, and she flutters her lashes in apology. // Sorry. // His eyes close in resignation, awaiting the next stitch and her true response. She passes the needle back into his skin, feeling Agent Doggett's penetrating stare on her as she works. She wishes he would leave, so that she could speak her mind aloud instead of through gestures and sighs and intuitions, but then she reprimands herself. If he hadn't been with Mulder... She won't dwell on that either. It is too painful to imagine, and they have both just begun to recover from that ordeal. The next stitch quickly follows, the needle shining as it slides, and her thoughts are as biting as the stroke itself. // We talked about this...behavior. // She hates that she must act like a reprimanding mother, but she supposes it is good practice nonetheless. She can't imagine that their son will be any better than his father at staying out of trouble. Mulder opens his eyes and tilts his head sideways to catch her attention. His look follows the thread as she pulls it toward her and then settles on her face. She remembers how he gazed at her so intently only a few nights before, when he sat on her couch and asked for forgiveness with halting words and an antique china doll. She offered him absolution as they fumbled to reconnect in a tangle of Laura Ashley sheets and shaking limbs. The doll sat propped against her bed table lamp, a silent witness to their attempt. It takes time to heal. As a doctor, she knows this. She also knows that it is impossible if the wound continues to be reopened. He has not answered her; in his mind, there is nothing more to say. He will not apologize for his relentless nature, or for trying to protect her and their child. This she knows as well as she knows her own name, and she realizes she is unfair to ask him to do so. But as she makes the last stitch, she must also make one more thing clear. // I can't do this alone, Mulder. I tried...and I can't. Don't make me do this alone. // In spite of the discomfort, his face softens as he receives her message. As she ties off the thread and releases it from the needle, he turns to lock his gaze with hers, drilling his answer into her mind. < I'm here now, Scully. I promised you: you won't be alone again. > She tries to remain angry, but his eyes seduce her with their shining, unadulterated love. She thinks perhaps it is unhealthy how much she adores this man. She presses tiny bandages between the stitches to finish her work. She imagines the lacerated skin reaching across the gap to its other half, the cells beginning to weave themselves back together, amazingly becoming one again. The metaphor is not lost on her; she knows Mulder appreciates it, too. She speaks for the first time, breaking the spell and dissipating the magical connection they share in their minds. "Hold still, Mulder. That should just about do it." She applies the final bandage, and he growls as he bats her hand away, muttering something disparaging about her bedside manner. She smiles softly and dabs his nose with a cotton ball before finishing the dressing with antiseptic. It takes time to heal, but the stitches he has made in her heart are strong. They will recover, together. End AUTHOR'S NOTES: My sweet beta sallie had surgery, so we all decided she needed some good MSR to cheer her up. I thought a story of healing was a good parallel to the circumstances of her life, and I always wanted to see Mulder and Scully trying to repair their relationship in season eight. Sallie, my love, you are the bestest! This story was written with love and healing wishes, just for you. Rest well and enjoy all your presents, darling. You deserve them! -- "Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!" --Dennis, "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"