Date: 11 MAR 1998 18:37:23 GMT From: RN500 Subject: REPOST: "Alpha & Omega: The Beginning" by L. Phillips TITLE: Alpha and Omega: The Beginning AUTHOR: Linda Phillips RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: V / R KEYWORDS: MSR SPOILERS: Minor references to "Ascension/One Breath" , "Redux", "Redux II" and "Emily". SUMMARY: Companion piece to "Alpha and Omega", though it can stand alone. Not summarized further at author's request. **************** Comments to Linda at rn500@ozline.net *************** I love to watch her sleep. Her face is soft, unguarded. I imagine what she looked like as a girl, and what I hope to be there to see her look like as an old woman. I see her mother in her, her sister, her child. I see so many unshed tears and neglected smiles. I see a face that I've been looking for all my life. I remember the first time she woke and caught me watching her. She opened her eyes and said, "Mulder, what are you doing?" I couldn't answer. I felt a lump in my throat and I was afraid to speak. I just looked at her, hoping she that wouldn't see the depth of my need for her, hoping that she wouldn't be frightened away. She looked into my eyes for a long moment. Then she lay her palm against my cheek, and she smiled. I squeezed my eyes tight and tried to turn away, praying she wouldn't notice the tears that threatened. But she pulled me back to face her. "Look at me, Mulder." I did. In her eyes I realized a truth that I'll never understand. She knows me like no one else, the best and the worst of me. And she still loves me. She stays. It's the greatest miracle of my life. Her back is to me now, and I watch the gentle rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathes. I carefully pull the covers back just enough so that I can see the curve of her shoulder and her slender neck. Her hair is spread across the pillow, and I touch it, marveling in it's softness and color. It falls away from her neck, and in the soft glow from the street lamps outside I can just see the tiny scar that is usually hidden. I want to touch it, but I won't, I don't want to wake her. My hand is often drawn to that small bump of scar tissue, I don't even realize it sometimes until she pulls away and gives me that look. She gets so annoyed with me, because she knows what I'm thinking: what if? What if she hadn't listened to me, and to herself? What if I'd never found the chip? What if she'd never been abducted in the first place? What if they'd never brought her back? It's been over three years, and I still can hear her voice calling me - "Mulder! I need your help!" She doesn't like to dwell on the past. We are so different that way. Before I met her, my life was about nothing *but* the past. I was certain that what I needed to find was there, the answers buried behind me somewhere. My search has brought me many questions and few answers. There's been no closure for me, and no end in sight. I'm tired, and I've longed for a safe place to rest. Somewhere warm, and comforting, and accepting. I didn't think I'd ever find such a place. Then this woman held me in her arms. At times it's a struggle to maintain our professionalism at work. Or perhaps I should say, it is for me. She doesn't seem to have as much trouble with that as I do. We still work perfectly together, with the same give and take, balancing yin and yang. When things get intense or dangerous, we are still a seamless dyad, sensing the other's next move, watchful of the other's safety but not afraid. The adrenaline pumps and we do what we have to do to get the job done. It's the quiet times that are difficult for me. The times when we are sitting side by side studying pictures and files. My eyes will stray from the work in front of me and settle on that soft place on her neck where it pulsates from the beating of her heart. I remember what that spot felt like last night, what it does to her when I kiss her there... Or when we are walking down the halls at the Bureau, side by side. People turn their heads to look at her as she walks by. She claims not to notice it, and says I'm exaggerating when I mention it. But I'm not. She is a woman who draws attention. She doesn't think she's beautiful, and when I tell her that she is, she looks away, she doesn't want to hear it. But the rest of the world knows. And sometimes I'd like nothing better than to put my arm around her as we pass those turned heads and shout, "she's mine!" But, for now, the work is still too important to us to jeopardize it with actions that others take for granted. Someday, that will change. It has to. Sometimes during these late nights awake, I think back to the first time we made love. It hasn't been that long, a few months now. I still remember everything about that night. We'd just apprehended a particularly disgusting sicko, a man who'd been preying on young single women for over a year. He would follow them, learn their routines, and using a variety of tricks he would gain their trust, along with entrance to their homes. Once there, he held them captive for three days, never more, never less. They would be bound and gagged, and over that period of time he carved words and symbols into their skin that meant nothing to anyone but him. On the third day, he slit their throats. There were never any prints, no witnesses. Until his last intended victim got lucky, so to speak, and managed to throw herself out of a second story window on day two. She broke her leg and dislocated her shoulder, but she was alive and conscious and was able to give a detailed description that helped us find him a few days later. She kept saying over and over again, "he seemed so harmless." I could tell that Scully was particularly disturbed by this case, but she wouldn't talk about it. The night we took the guy in, she was positively stone-faced. We finished up the paperwork at the precinct, and headed home. In silence. After about twenty minutes of this, I pulled into a small honky tonk bar out in the middle of nowhere. There were about three cars in the small dirt parking lot, and the neon sign promised 'Cold B er'. She didn't say a word until I had turned off the ignition. "Mulder, what are we doing here?" She sounded drained. I was hoping she wouldn't put up much of a fight. I told her I needed a drink, and I thought she could use one too. She sighed and followed me into the bar. We took a table in a far corner and ordered chicken wings and two cold drafts. The waitress brought four glasses. "Two for one tonight," she said, snapping her gum between what remained of her teeth. We quickly drained two glasses. Scully was absently gnawing on a chicken bone and licking the sauce off of her fingers. I reached across the table and lay my hand on hers. Our eyes met. She gave me a sad little smile and sighed again. "Scully, we did a good thing today." She nodded and looked down at the table. "I know. Too bad we couldn't have done it a little sooner though, eh?" The juke box suddenly kicked into life, and Johnny Cash drowned out the baseball game on the TV up at the bar. A middle aged woman in jeans that were too tight walked away from the juke box and cajoled her gray haired companion into joining her on the tiny dance floor. We both watched them as we sipped our second beer, and I saw a smile flicker across Scully's face. I was about to bite into another chicken wing when I heard Elvis calling me. I looked up at Scully, and after wiping off my greasy hand, I offered it to her. "Dance with me, Scully." She gave me a quizzical look. "Mulder..." "C'mon... please?" Tentatively, she took my hand. We moved slowly on the dance floor, my hand around her waist. "Love me tender, love me dear..." She didn't look at me, but settled her cheek against my shoulder. I pulled her closer, and I felt her hand slide from my shoulder to rest behind my neck. God, it felt so good. So right. I'd loved her for so long by then. I really can't remember when I didn't love her. There was never a time when I thought, yes, this is it, she's the one. I guess I never really thought that there was *one* for me. I couldn't imagine someone wanting my baggage, my past, my strange life. But I knew that I was closer to her than I'd ever been with anyone, I trusted her more than anyone, and I couldn't conceive of a life without her in it. Often when I was alone, and the night stretched out like an endless dark ocean before me, I would think about her, imagine her with me. I wanted her so badly... not just sex, but *her* - I wanted to hear her and touch her and see her, I wanted to hold her and tell her it was going to be all right even when I knew it wasn't. Especially then. The song was ending, and I glanced up to see the woman in the tight jeans watching us. She smiled at me, then hurried over to the juke box and put in some more quarters. As the last strains of Elvis drifted away, Scully stopped dancing and looked up at me. I thought my heart was going to stop. The look in her eyes... I can't describe it. She held on to me, with her gaze as well as her hands. I was afraid to speak, to move, anything. I didn't want to break away from that moment. The music started again, and that nice lady had so kindly chosen another slow song, a country tune that I didn't recognize. Scully put her head down against me and we started to move again, slowly, swaying just enough to shuffle our feet. I closed my eyes. We could have been in a gilded ballroom and I would not have felt more incredible than I did at that moment. She turned her face up to me again, and this time I couldn't stay still. I leaned down and kissed her, gently, slowly, wanting to savor every second. Her lips were so soft, like I had imagined them to be. I was so afraid she would pull away, but she didn't. The hand on the back of my neck pulled me forward, tighter against her. Finally, we separated just a bit, and I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers. I swear to God I felt dizzy. "Scully..." My voice was barely a whisper. "Shhh," was all she said. We finished the dance and looked at each other. She was the first to speak. "We should go." She didn't sound very convincing. "Yeah." Somebody could have asked me if I was Napoleon at that moment and I would have said the same thing. We drove home the remaining forty five minutes with only the radio making any sound. She sat far on the passenger side of the car, watching the dark shadows go by and thinking who knew what. As for me, my head was swimming. What do I do? Ignore the whole thing? Pretend it never happened? Make her talk about it? Just grab her and kiss her again? I was completely dumbfounded. I pulled up to her door and put the car in park. She sat there for a minute, her head down. I looked at my hands and cracked my knuckles like an idiot. Then she turned to me. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Why don't you come in, Mulder?" I thought she'd never ask. Inside, she went to the kitchen and started making coffee. I couldn't stand it any more. I walked up behind her and put my hands on her arms. She stood perfectly still. I slid my hands down her arms and folded her small hands in my own. She leaned back into me with a sigh, bringing our joined hands across her chest and up under her chin. I wasn't about to rush anything. It was her call. She turned to face me. Her eyes searched mine. For what, I wasn't sure. Doubt? I had none. Fear? Plenty. "Scully, I love you." It was a warning, a plea. "I know that, Mulder." Her eyes never left mine. "I don't want this to be just... I mean, I can't..." Be sure, Scully, I thought. Be damn sure. "I know, Mulder. I don't want it to be that either." She lifted herself on her toes and kissed me. My arms went around her and I held on for dear life. I felt her body pressing into mine, and I was instantly aroused. Her mouth probed my own, wet and hungry, her hands on my face. I pulled away, and looked at her. I wanted her so much, but I was so afraid. "Please, Scully..." Every insecurity I had came rushing to the surface. Don't hurt me, I wanted to say. Don't do this unless you know what it means to me. But the words wouldn't come. She still held my face in her hands, and she studied me for a second, her eyes thoughtful and soft. "Trust me, Mulder. Please trust me." I closed my eyes. "I do." "Then make love to me." In one motion I leaned down and picked her up in my arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck as I carried her to her bedroom. I had imagined this a hundred times, what her skin would feel like, taste, smell. But nothing in my imagination could have compared with reality. She stood before me and removed her jacket, revealing a lacy, feminine garment underneath. A camisole, I think she calls it. I'd fantasized about that, wondering what she wore under those oh-so-professional suits of hers. She unzipped her skirt, and it fell to the floor with her slip. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching me watch her, as she slowly slid her hose down and off each lovely little foot. I took her hands and brought her back to her feet, holding her out a bit in front of me. I couldn't stop staring at her, all of her. Her skin shone in the dim light, almost as silky smooth as the peach colored camisole and panties she wore. Finally, I let go of her hands to unbutton my shirt, having long ago lost my tie and jacket. She reached up and pushed my hands away. "Let me do that," she whispered. Oh my God. I had to hold myself back from just grabbing her and fucking the hell out of her right then and there. That may have been what my body wanted, but not the rest of me. I was not going to hurry this. I wanted to touch every inch of her, kiss her and taste her everywhere. I wanted to make her moan and cry out for me and never forget this night. Her nimble fingers undid the buttons on my shirt and cuffs. She lay her hands across my chest and pushed the shirt down over my arms, her hands spreading fire as they went. Then she moved to my pants, and a groan escaped me as she unzipped them. They quickly joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. She looked at me again with those eyes. Sweet Jesus, those eyes! They told me everything, all that she couldn't yet say. She opened herself to me, slowly at first, shyly, then trustingly and completely. Oh, God, we made love for hours, at turns gentle and passionate, exploring every inch of one another. Nothing could have prepared me for the feeling I had when I finally entered her, her exquisite welcoming softness against me . Tears came to my eyes, and she kissed them away. She told me that night that she loved me, and I treasure that moment. She doesn't say it often. Putting her heart into words is difficult for her. But she shows me in so many ways. There's a slight movement in the bed next to me. I hold very still, not wanting to wake her, but at the same time hoping that she will turn to me with half sleepy eyes and take me in her arms. There's nowhere I would rather be than safe inside of her. Outwardly, I don't know that I've changed much since that night. But inside, I'm different. Every morning when I wake up next to her, I feel so alive, and - dare I admit - so damn happy. There aren't enough words to say what she means to me, she is my heart, my soul, everything. She's opened a door for me, and I'm so tempted to walk through it. There's a different life for me on the other side; an optimism, a hope. I can see it, and she's there with her hand stretched out to me. Wait for me, baby. I'm almost there. **************************** End Comments to Linda at rn500@ozline.net