From: "Jenna Tooms" Subject: Submission NEW "Fields of Gold" Date sent: Wed, 18 Feb 1998 11:01:41 -0700 Title: Fields of Gold Author: Brownie Address: jb336@email.byu.edu Rating: NC-17 (subject matter, language) Category: Story, R Spoilers: None. Keywords: MSR, angst Summary: Driving in the midwest gives rise to some interesting thoughts. Disclaimer: Hi, Chris, can Mulder and Scully come out to play? I promise they'll be back by the time the streetlights come on. Well, Mulder may be a little later . . . No money has changed hands in the creation or distribution of this story. (Unless you want to count those midnight runs to Taco Bell . . . hey, I am a student, after all.) Author's Note: This started out as a song-inspired story, then kind of got out of hand. I'm striving more for mood than using the actual songs, sort of. Dedicated to DD and GA, who give life to the words, and to Steve, who edits them with only the necessary amount of sarcasm. I have kiped the following songs, because I must have music: "Fields of Gold" by Sting "We Walk the Same Line" by Everything but the Girl "Head Over Feet" by Alannis Morrissette "If I Ever Lose My Faith In You" by Sting Fields of Gold 1. The woman's clear alto sang out of the speakers. "If you lose your faith, babe, you can have mine, and if you're lost I'm right behind, because we walk the same line. . ." Backed up only by an acoustic guitar, it sounded like. Nice, soothing. Utterly depressing. Mulder changed the station. Some days he didn't notice what the radio played--it was only background noise, it helped him focus. But today. . .today every song reminded him of Scully. Either the only stations the little rental-car radio could pick up played nothing but love songs 24-7, or he was so twitterpated he saw his love in everything. He hoped it was the former. It wasn't as if Scully were gone, that was the hell of it. No, she was right beside him, a silent, pale, woman with a look in her eyes that said she had far too much on her mind. He wasn't sure he liked this pensive Scully. He missed how she used to be--the small jokes, the educated challenges, the smile of approval or appreciation, the raised eyebrow when he got out of line. But that was before. . . He shook his head briefly, which roused her from her thoughts. "Need me to drive?" she said. "No, I'm okay." "Wake me if you start dozing off," she said, and leaned her forehead against the window. Two more hours until Omaha, the airport. Then the flight home. Then the drive to his apartment, because she'd picked him up. And she would not be coming upstairs with him. She would let him off at the curb, smile politely at his thanks, and drive away. And Monday morning it would be the same. Polite. Cool. As if they were strangers again. No, he did not like this overly soliticitous Scully. He preferred--and who wouldn't--the Scully who had crawled into his arms two months before, whispering simply, "Please, just love me." Who had needed him, needed his comfort, needed his love. Whom he had refused. Who had not spoken to him for two days, and then returned to work as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing had. Who was now only a few inches away, as beautiful, as sexy, as desireable as she'd ever been, and totally untouchable. As remote as a porcelain goddess. At first he'd thought it was she might come to him again, with the same demand, and he thought this time he would be brave enough to say yes. But she had not come to him again. Not even in the hotel in the little town disappearing rapidly behind them, even though he'd only been on the other side of the wall. At one point he thought he heard sobbing, but when he knocked her voice was calm. Her standard answer was all he could get out of her. I'm fine, Mulder. Good night. No, really, I'm fine. His hands were aching to touch her--not even in a sexual way, just in the way he always had before, just to support, protect, cherish. *I'm thinking in wedding vows,* he thought, and had to stifle the semi-hysterical laughter that threatened to bray out of him. She would never marry him. She would never touch him. Even their friendship, which he'd always thought was the foundation of everything they did together, was threatening to collapse. Even the new radio station he'd randomly chosen seemed to have it in for him. A woman's voice again, nice but not as smooth as the first, "You're the best listener that I've ever met, you're my best friend, best friend with benefits, what took me so long. . ." He reached over to change the channel. His fingers brushed Scully's hand. They both froze. She drew away first. "They really overplay that song," she said, and turned back to the window. He took his hand away as well. What was she thinking, he wondered. Wanting, maybe,to tell him to pull over the car and take her by the side of the road--there was even a blanket in the trunk, left there by a former renter--they could go out in the fields that surrounded them. He'd never made love in a field, and suddenly he wanted to, very, very badly. The DJ's voice chirped, "This is WXPR, and you've just heard 'Head Over Feet' by Alannis Morrissette. It's five o'clock on a gorgeous Friday afternoon, and we're going to start our Triple Play weekend with a trio from Sting." More guitars, a synthesizer. Sting's voice. "You'll remember me, when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley, you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in fields of gold." Mulder wondered if he would die from need or go crazy first. Probably go crazy, and end up stalking Sting with a baseball bat, foaming at the mouth and muttering, "How did you know? How did you know?" He made no move to change the station, and neither did Scully. "So he took her love, for to gaze awhile upon the fields of barley, in his arms she fell as her hair came down, among the fields of gold. " *Oh, Scully,* he thought, and a lump suddenly formed in his throat. *I'm losing you, I can feel it, the day is coming fast when you'll leave me entirely, and I don't want it, I couldn't take it--* "Mulder." Her voice was wry. "You're swerving. Maybe I should drive." He pulled the car over to the shoulder of the highway, but made no move to get out. He stared at the steering wheel, wondering what he could do to change this, reverse it. Make it better. Make it go away. "Mulder." Worried now. "Will you stay with me, will you be my love, among the fields of barley?" Sting asked. "We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold." God. Exactly what he'd been thinking. He turned to look at Scully. He said simply, "I want to make love to you." "I never made promises lightly," Sting sang. "And there have been some that I've broken, but I swear in the days we have left we'll walk in fields of gold." The weariness that he wanted to kiss away seemed to just settle itself more firmly onto her shoulders. "No, Mulder," she said just as simply, and got out of the car. He wished he was angry enough to drive off and leave her, but he wasn't. Not angry. Just sad. Scully tapped on the window. She'd come around the car, and was waiting for him to get out. He opened the car door and got out, and she nipped in as soon as he stepped out of the way. He sighed with resignation and got into the back seat, and lay down, curling his long body up as best he could. The car started off with a rumble, and settled into a steady hum as they continued down the highway. 2. As Scully readjusted the rearview mirror, it gave her a brief view of Mulder, dozing in the back seat. She let it linger for a moment, loving the sight of him, his face relaxed and unguarded. With a sigh she raised the mirror so that she could see the road. If he would only say something. That he cared for her, that he--was it too much to hope?--that he loved her. If he would just say that, she'd follow him anywhere, let him do anything. She was so in love with him it hurt, it kept her up at night, she was surprised it didn't cloud her judgement anymore than it did. And he didn't love her back. And when he'd said he wanted her, she'd almost said yes. But she'd made a promise to herself, that she'd never say anything to him about it again. She tilted the rearview mirror again, looked at Mulder. *I love you,* she thought. *Heart, body, mind and soul.* She had turned the radio down but she could still hear it. The second song from Sting. "You could say I lost my faith in science and progress, you could say I love my belief in the holy church, you could say I lost my sense of direction, you could say all of this and worse but if I ever lose my faith in you, there'd be nothing left for me to do. . ." She had once told Mulder she had the strength of his beliefs. She still believed in him. It was herself that she wasn't so sure of anymore. *I want to believe in you,* she thought. *I want to believe in me. In us. In love.* One more try. Just one. She pulled the car over the the side of the road and turned off the engine. "Mulder," she said softly, turning around. He raised his head and blinked at her sleepily. "Is something wrong?" "No. I--I need you." She knew she was blushing furiously. They just looked at each other for a moment. She whispered, "The blanket--out in the field--please--" For a moment he looked like he was going to say no. Then he silently got out of the car and waited for her to follow. She did, and handed him the keys. He unlocked the trunk and took out the blanket from beneath their suitcases. It was soft, large, a pale green flannel. Holding hands, they walked out into the field. The sun was gentle and golden, and the fields smelled of warm, growing things. They found a place far from the road, and Mulder spread out the blanket and lay down, leaning on his elbows. Scully smiled as she unbuttoned her blazer and let it drop. He smiled back, his eyes dark with anticipation. She lay down next to him, leaning against him and supporting herself on one elbow, and ran a hand lightly down his chest. Mulder made a soft sound low in his throat, grabbed her hand and kissed the center of her palm. He moved her hand to the side of his face and kissed her mouth, kissed all around her face, kissed her mouth again. She opened her lips to him, drew his tongue with hers into her mouth. She pulled him down on top of her and tried to wrap one leg around him, but her skirt was too narrow for that kind of movement. Mulder searched along her waistband and found the zipper at her side, and slowly drew it down, and with his help she wriggled out of the skirt. He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, trailing his fingers over her skin as he bared it, toying with the straps of her slip and the bra beneath it. She shrugged the slip off her shoulders and pressed his hand against the side of her breast. That finally caused him to break the kiss, or kisses, rather, that had seemed to go on for hours. He stroked her hair and traced the line of her nose with his fingertip, and smiled. "We're going to miss our flight," he said. "So?" "I like the way you think, Agent Scully," he said and kissed her. She unknotted his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, and they stopped kissing long enough to take off his shirt and jacket. He took off his shoes and socks as well, and then took off her shoes for her and tickled the soles of her feet lightly. She gave him a low chuckle and twisted away and stood up. She dropped the slip and stepped out of it, and smiled at the expression on his face as his eyes travelled up and down her body. "So that's what I've been missing," he said. "Do you wear those a lot?" "Garters? Only when the skirt's long enough. What do you think?" This was said a little anxiously. "I think I need to look closer, but so far I like it a lot." He held out his arms. "Come here." She lay down in his arms, slipping a leg between his, and kissed him. The sun was warm on her back, and Mulder smelled so good, of soap and a simple, clean aftershave. He unclasped her bra and slipped it off her, and spread his hands over her breasts before running his hands down her sides and cupping them around her buttocks. Scully stopped kissing his mouth and began to move down his throat, running her tongue over his adam's apple, his clavicles, down to his nipples which she took lightly between her lips. He moaned softly and ran his hands through her hair. He raised her head and turned her gently onto her back, and took her left breast into his mouth. She closed her eyes and groaned, and groaned louder when he moved to her right breast. He kissed her belly and her thighs, and with a slightly wicked grin kissed between her thighs, between her lower lips, onto the core of her being. He closed his lips around her clitoris, flicking it lightly with the tip of his tongue, while she drew up her legs and raised her hips to give him better access to her body. The flicks became firmer, longer, using the length of his tongue, circling her clitoris and finally, slowly, sucking. Scully's head whipped from side to side, inarticulate sounds pouring from her mouth. She ran her hands over her breasts, into Mulder's hair, stroking the nape of his neck. He raised his head and she moaned, "Don't stop, please don't stop." "I want to come inside you, and I can't hold out much longer." "Mulder," she said simply and held out her arms to him. He moved upwards to kiss her, and she clawed at his belt buckle. He laughed at her softly and unbuckled it himself, and slipped off his pants and shorts himself. He kissed her again, positioning himself between her legs, and as he kissed her, slowly slid inside her. It was too much--the smell of their love, the strength of his thrusts, the warmth of the sun, the taste of his skin, the sound of the wind through the grain, the distant song of birds, the sounds they made, the power of his body, his golden eyes staring so intensely into hers--she closed her eyes, unable to look at him any more. "Scully. Look at me." "I can't." "Look at me. Dana. Look at me." She opened her eyes. Watched him watching her. The contortions of his face. The pleasure she was giving him. The emotional nakedness. The trust. "Ah, god, Dana," he groaned, and she felt the shudders run through his body. He pressed his face against the side of her neck, groaning, "Come for me, Dana, give it to me. Come for me." "Yes," she answered, or something to that effect, because it was overcoming her, overwhelming her, an orgasm of such intensity that for a moment she felt like she'd left her body and was watching them make love, surrounded by gold. She screamed . . . something. And collapsed into him. 3. It took Mulder a moment to remember where he was. All he could see was her fiery hair, her golden skin, the sky the color of her eyes. She looked like she was asleep, or someplace far, far away. He studied her face, memorizing it, from the glint of the sun on her eyebrows to the smell of the skin beneath her chin. He nuzzled her face with his nose, her smooth cheeks, her perfect ears, her closed eyes. "Mulder," she said softly, and opened them. And smiled. "Hi." "Hi." She kissed him, just barely. Tenderly. "Am I too heavy?" "No. You're perfect." Her voice was like caramel-coated marshemellows. He wished he could crawl up inside her voice, wrap it around himself like a blanket. He lay his head on her breast, and she stroked his face, tracing his ears, his eyebrows, his eyes. "What are you doing?" he murmured. "Reading you." "And what do you read?" He moved his face against her hand, encouraging her to move towards his mouth. "I read . . . a man who has a lot of heartache." "That's a given, baby." "Baby," she mimicked him, with a low chuckle. "Sweetheart? Pumpkin? Puddin'?" She laughed. "You can call me sweetheart if I get to call you baby." "Am I your baby?" "You're my baby." Mulder smiled, loving how ridiculous they sounded. "I like being your baby," he said. "What else do you read?" "Hmm? Oh, let's see. You've got a lot of heart. A lot of passion, but you've learned to hide it. And you've lost a lot, and you're afraid of losing more. But you love with all of you, when you love." For a moment, Mulder couldn't say anything, he was so surprised at how well she knew him. "Wow," he said faintly. "How long have you been inside my head?" "Going on five years now." And she was still such a mystery to him. "We're going to miss our flight," he said finally, and withdrew from her. She sighed and watched him get dressed without moving, her hands folded together on her belly. "Scully. You look fabulous like that, but they won't let you onto the airplane." "I know." She sighed again and sat up, and got dressed silently. Mulder shook out the blanket and folded it up, and they went back to the car. And Scully drove. ^*^*^*^*^ Questions, comments, random thoughts? Yes, please. I have a sneaking suspicion there's more to this story (I hate it when the Muse teases me like this) so feedback just might give me the proper motivation. "Ask yourself, who am I? Keep asking until you get the right answer." Zorak, "Cartoon Planet." "Men are made for happiness, and he who is completely happy has the right to say to himself, 'I am doing God's will on earth.'" -- Dostoyevksy. Why do I write? Well, it's more fun than sleeping. "Mulder smelled good. He looked good too, good enough to bite down on and chew." -- "One Night, When Scully Faced the Truth" by Madeleine Partous.