TITLE: Juxtaposition AUTHOR: Dyann Zimmerman CATEGORY: MSR; RST SPOILERS: Somewhat for 'Trustno1' but if you haven't seen it, you won't notice. RATING: R, maybe NC-17 to some Pax channel watchers. ARCHIVE: Go for it. SUMMARY: Scully's thoughts and correspondence about her life surround a mysterious visitor. FEEDBACK: Welcomed at philer@onemain.com "It is said that in life you must find your passion and strike a balance. Balance... Deep down, I knew I had found my passion nine years ago. But my life has only been out of balance ever since. Keats once said, "Is there another life? Shall I awake and find this all a dream? There must be, we cannot be created for this kind of suffering." NATIONAL ZOOLOGICAL PARK WASHINGTON, DC THURSDAY, 3:00pm As the woman with the stroller moves through the crowd, an easy saunter, with all the appearances of a mother enjoying the unusually mild winter weather with her child, the man in the long camel overcoat watches. From behind the stand full of trinkets and T-shirts, important to someone now; meaningless to them later, he pretends to read the day's edition, but keeps a watchful shadow, never losing sight of her auburn hair. He watches her-- her movements, who she speaks to, who might speak to her. He watches for others watching her. She stops, taking her child, a child he knows is her son, into her arms, removing him from his comfortable recline to show him a giraffe being fed leaves from the end of a long pole by an attendant who doesn't seem to share her wonder. Her son looks up, waving his small, pale blue mitten into the afternoon air, only generally in the direction of the scene, but with just enough accuracy for her to seem delighted and impressed as only a parent could be at such a small gesture. She laughs with the child, hugging him to her chest, kissing and kissing him as though he had just learned how to fly. But as the man in the overcoat strolls closer, he sees that she is crying. "Enjoying the day with William, I almost feel like a normal person, like I'm living a normal life. But as I enjoy the small milestones of my son's life, the realization of my true existence collides with my momentary illusion of normalcy. My son's father isn't here. And he isn't home waiting for us... My only contact with him in these past five months of William's life has been through the screen of a random computer that only I can see and that I can only see. I ache to touch him, for him to touch me... for him to see and hold and love his child and to feel him hold and love me." NATIONAL GROUNDS INTERNET CAFE GEORGETOWN, VA THURSDAY, 4:30pm She is sipping her coffee; the liquid obviously hot by the grimace she exhibits after the mug touches her lips. The man is outside, sneaking glances through the windows, the double glass doors, as he walks past, appearing as any other shopper to those he passes. But he knows her, how perceptive and clever she is, how she'll surely spot him if given too many opportunities. He has to play this right. Her son is in his stroller, peacefully drinking from his bottle as she turns from the computer screen, smiling at him, touching his cheek. Her overwhelming love for her child flows from her, as obvious to the man as her ache for something more. He knows why she is here and why she is aching. When she checks her e-mail, through an account she falsely thinks has not been discovered, he watches her reaction, knowing she has gotten no message from the one for whom she aches. Seeing her stand, gather her things, he walks further past the cafe than he had before, but close enough to see, again, the tears she sheds. "The waitress knows what I'll order and that I'll ask her to warm William's bottle. This doesn't give me the comfort of most familiarities, but only serves to remind me that I need to find another Internet access soon. Sometimes I feel like I'm living across the street from all my wishes and dreams, watching them all being lived by someone else. There are times... there are things in my life that make me feel like the luckiest woman to have ever lived. I was blessed with a childhood that everyone should have; blessed with a mind that opened doors to a life and a career that most would envy; blessed with a child that I only dreamed I'd have born of a love so great it cannot be expressed by my words. But now, here I am... feeling lost and alone, the only blessing I can recognize is my child, resting beside me as I write these words that someday I pray to be able to share. Keats once said 'Is there another life? Shall I awake and find this all a dream? There must be, we cannot be created for this kind of suffering.' Sometimes it feels like life and death. I realize how uncomfortable that juxtaposition is, but my soul is so barren right now, I can truly say if it weren't for William, there would be no reason for my existence. I fear the worst, but I need hope... for me and our son." DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN, VA THURSDAY, 11:30pm The man watches from the nondescript sedan parked halfway down the block, the window opened a crack to allow a view over the fogged window. He had watched her since her return from the cafe, parking in various places, close enough to observe, but distant enough to avoid notice. She didn't leave again after she returned home, but she had had visitors- - visitors who had surprised him, not onllly because they arrived by surprise, but also because of whom they were. He didn't suspect she would extend an invitation to John Doggett and Monica Reyes to stop by for an evening's entertainment and hoped it wasn't some sign that he had been detected. The visitors stayed only an hour or so, not long enough for much of a social visit, but neither short enough to be some kind of warning. But the visitors had made him cautious, more on edge; enough for him to decide that tonight was not the right time. So he'll wait... "I love this child so much I ache. He has become my sole reason for existence, my existence his sole sustenance. My feelings for him are all that keep me going, the only place I feel comfort, but I know these lone feelings of comfort are temporary and that my sadness and longing are the only permanent things I have in my life. As my child, our child, still a miracle by his sheer existence, but more a miracle because he was created of our union, receives life from my body, I feel Mulder here with us as I close my eyes. I want to tell him that his son is beautiful, that our child makes me feel beautiful and loved as he looks up at me while suckling, his tiny hand kneading my breast, receiving his life from me. There is more meaning in his eyes than I can really know. I put him to sleep after rocking him until I am nearly sleeping sitting up, leaving no time for any of life's other necessities, choosing... needing to hold him until I must sleep. As I lay in our bed, I remember our short time here, an occupancy born of love and need, not knowing we were creating that which has become my life. Had we been able to choose this birth, would we have? Would we have wanted to or would we have waited under the false pretense that we had time to wait?" DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN, VA FRIDAY, 8:15am The man waits for her exit, viewing from behind the building where he had made his car his temporary station, keeping her car, innocently waiting in its numbered slot, in his expectant view. He had endured the night in his spot on the street, imagining what her night was like, what she did, what she thought about, who she dreamed of, until morning when he had watched her mother ring the outside buzzer. The door soon opened and he could envision that at that very moment, she was in her apartment standing near her front door pressing the security button. Her mother is the only one she seems to trust totally now, with her son, her secrets, her pain. What else does she know? He knows that tonight he will know. "Leaving my child gives me chills. My mother has become a foundation I haven't needed since I was her child, but I fear for her. She knows the risks, but chooses her grandson and me over safety for her own life, bringing me some of the comfort of the family I need. Life can be like an unreliable lover; at times it makes us sail but later leaves us stranded. I laugh to myself as I assign that metaphor to my own life... and my own lover. Another analogy comes to me, comparing my family to a four-legged table with one leg missing and I'm afraid it has become irretrievably unstable and it will soon topple, every precious item on its surface crashing into pieces." FBI TRAINING ACADAMY QUANTICO, VA FRIDAY, 4:15pm She had parked her car in her usual spot, inside the garage she feels is secure, but is so wrong in assuming so. His access was easy. He had followed her from outside her apartment and waited and now watches as she hurries to her car at the end of the day, tossing her briefcase and her laptop in the backseat as he knows she's done hundreds of times before. She is almost in her car before he notices a piece of folded paper drop unnoticed from her pocket, gapped from her movement into the seat. He gives her time to drive on to the exit ramp of the garage before slipping from his car to retrieve the fold of paper, clutching it as a clue, a connection to something, anything. As he drives to catch up to a safe distance from her taillights, he opens the folded paper. He recognizes the printed copy of an e-mail... a love letter she hoped was received but feared was intercepted. "Trust_no1@mail.com; As I write this letter of my love to you, I can still feel you from our last time, Mulder, as if you are here with me now. Sometimes, I remember every loving detail from our few months together before you were missing- - our words, your touches, your smell, yooour movements... then there are terrible times when I feel I can barely remember what you looked like. Then after you were returned to this life, we were together again after months and months of pain like I have never known. I think that night we were finally together again, we needed each other more than we wanted each other. Closing my eyes, I remember... I can still feel your hands caress my face before your lips caressed mine, your hands and your lips moving over my shoulders and then my breasts, my body. Your hands can't stop moving across my enlarged abdomen, the evidence of our love, our child growing inside me. I have never been more aroused in my life. My awkwardness and uncertainty dissolved when I could open my eyes and looked at you as you looked at me. You seemed in awe and you told me so. You have 'never seen anything more beautiful' you tell me and I believe you. As you kiss me again before turning me to my side, everything you do makes me tremble and gasp, aching for more no matter what you do. I reach back to touch you, to take you in my hand and feel that you want me as much as I want you. Without words, but with a look I will never forget, you tell me with your eyes that you can wait no longer. I turn back to kiss you as affirmation that I, too, need you beyond words, as you lift my thigh and lay it over yours before you enter me with a long, deep motion that, I swear Mulder, makes me lose consciousness. You are gentle but authoritative and I think I may never be able to breathe again and I think that I will hyperventilate. You are holding and caressing me so tightly that I think our skin will meld and we will never separate, your hand on my breast, your hand on my stomach, sometimes moving to lift my thigh, changing our position, the feeling you incite. You twine our fingers, moving them across, around, over us with touches and movements that are as sexual as the rest of our actions, but as tender as you have ever been. My hand stays with yours as you caress the part of my body that holds our child. I have never felt more loved nor have I ever loved more. Our climaxes are almost unnoticed, as the act of love we've been sharing couldn't have been equaled by anything-- until the birth of our child, Mulder, the result of our love. I wanted a child, your child, but to ever think that I would have our child and it be the result of our lovemaking was not a thought I was ever able to entertain, except in my dreams. And I did dream that, for longer than you know. I fear that you will never get this message, that someone else might. But by chance that you do, you'll understand my feelings and know how desperately I want you to return safely to me. I love you. I love you... Forever yours, Dana." DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN, VA FRIDAY, 7:30pm He has been watching closely over a day now and he knows that she is only being watched by him. And he is good, very good. If there were others, they would have been discovered by him. He is confident in that. He has just noticed a new glow to the window he knows is her bedroom, thinking she is probably rocking and nursing her child, oblivious to anything else in the world right now. He knows the seldom-used, dimly lit back entrance well and steals his way around through the alley. Like a thief in the night, he stealthily ascends the service stairs, counting the floors to the beat of his heart as he goes, his excitement escalating, not really believing where he is and what awaits him, but fearing what he also might find. His heart is pounding as he picks the lock, hoping that she hasn't used the chain lock yet at this early evening hour. He slides the tumblers effortlessly, having performed this task more times than he can remember. The lights are low in the apartment; the only sound he hears is the low hum of an aquarium light. As he moves toward her bedroom, he hears a delicate voice barely singing an unrecognizable lullaby. "Scully...?" She jerks to the sound of a voice she recognizes, the sound of the voice of whom she craves. "Mulder!" she shouts as she stands, holding their child to her breast as she runs to him. He wraps them in his arms, holding them within the warmth of his long camel overcoat. "Scully... Scully..." he repeats before pulling away to look at her, to look at his son. She lays her forehead to his chest, sobbing words that he can't yet decipher as William begins to fuss at losing his place, for the moment, as her priority. She steps back from him before he cups her face in his hands as he smiles at her, bending to kiss her. Time stops... for both of them. As their contact ends, he touches William, stroking his hand over his son's head with wonder as, now, she watches him. "Mulder, what are you doing here-- how did you get here-- " "Shhh... Shhh...," a whisper while touching a finger to her lips. "We'll talk, we'll have time," he says soothingly as he reaches for his son. She places William in his father's large hands, her baby immediately seeming smaller. The baby moves, emitting a sleepy coo that causes Mulder to gasp with wonder. His look of awe, of astoundment, amazement, of love in its purest form permeates through her whole being as she watches him watch his son. No words are spoken as he lets her help him remove his coat, never taking his eyes from his son, his smile, his eyes, reflecting what his heart feels. She allows him his time as she turns off the lights in the apartment, locking the door, this time securing the deadbolt and the chain lock. She returns to the bedroom to find Mulder bending over the bassinet, taking great care in putting his son down, covering him, giving him one more kiss. She wraps her arm around his waist; he slides his over her shoulders. "He's beautiful, Scully. He's so big... he's grown," with his earlier amazement still present in his voice. "He's a good baby, Mulder. Except that he sometimes has his days and nights mixed up. He's definitely your son," she responds, looking up at him with a smile that tells him everything. He turns, taking her in his arms, putting his lips on hers before tightening his embrace, lifting her off her feet. Her arms are around his neck now, her legs wrapped around his waist. They kiss a kiss that makes up for the missed months before she presses her expression into his neck, sobbing, literally sobbing out all of her emotions without any language needed. He knows what her wordless sounds mean, wanting to say the same things but not being able to speak over his tears any better than she can. "God, Mulder... I've missed you... I've missed you so much. You can't know how much I've needed you, how much we've needed you," she is finally able to break the power of their silence. "Mulder, I haven't had any sign from you-- I've been so scared." "I know, Scully. It wasn't safe and I couldn't risk it," he breaths into her hair, continuing to hold on to her body still wrapped around him. "Then how can you be here now?" she says resolvedly as he moves toward the bed, setting her down on the edge of the handmade quilt. "Their backs were turned. It's safe for now. You must know that I made sure of that before coming here," he offered as reason, stroking her hair as assurance of his resolve. She touches his cheek with a tender hand offered for his hardened face. He closes his eyes, turning to kiss her palm, unspoken words telling them they want what they both know will be only for tonight. DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN, VA SATURDAY, 6:01am He watches her, remembering, feeling the memories of their night together, their bodies together. Her head is back; resting on the delicate afghan that lays over the back of her grandmother's oak rocker, her rhythmic movements as calm and peaceful as the sight before him. She looks down, smiling at their son, nursing at her breast. She removes his lips from her, his sleeping expression barely noticing the separation as she covers herself, taking him to his crib. She hadn't noticed Mulder watching her until she returned to their bed, smiling at his expression that tells her he was watching, recording what she does when he is not there to watch. She removes her robe, returning to her place with him, next to him, caressed by him, over him. She looks down into his eyes, open, though the feelings, the sensations, make it nearly impossible. But hers are open, despite her movements, her breaths, her gasps, her challenge to him to look at her, to watch, to not miss any part of their union. Her hands stroke his stomach, his chest as she leans down to kiss him, to slip her tongue in his mouth, never stopping her movements on him, his movements in her. Her eyes finally close as her back arches, tears spilling onto her cheeks, then onto his chest, as her breath hitches, her body stills. "Oh, God, Mulder... Mulder..." she breathes, collapsing onto him, moving with his last motions that make him spill into her. He clutches her, she holds him, as their pounding hearts and labored breathing echo in tandem within the overwhelming meaning of the moment. The corporeal act taking their bodies to a place they needed to be, the spiritual meaning giving them a place to return. "Scully, I wish I could express how much I love you," he whispers to her, feeling unable to relay the absolute depth of his desperation for her. "Mulder, you can... you just did," she tells him close, him feeling her words as her breath floats, hesitates on his chest. "I know. I know. What we feel for each other is right over there in his crib, Mulder." She moves to sit, to move off him, lying on her side next to him as he rolls to face her. He holds her, stroking her back, her hips, touching her face, her shoulders, her breasts as she watches him, kissing his chest, his throat, his finger tips as he brings them to her lips. "This is everything, you know, Scully," he speaks what his eyes are already saying to her. "This room could be our world... but we know it can't be." His words stab through her, bursting apart the idyllic illusion she has been living since his arrival. She grabs at him, groping him, to hold him closer as she buries her face, her tears into his neck, holding his cheek to hers. "Please don't tell me that yet, Mulder. Please, don't." "Scully...." "I know it, but I just don't want to hear it," she sobs, her tears melting onto his skin, dissolving his determination to be strong for her, to be strong for himself. She cries, cries heaving, almost convulsive breaths, holding him as tight as he is holding her. "Shhh... shhh..." he tries to soothe. "C'mon, Scully, we'll make it through this. We will. Think of what we survived in the last year...." He pets her hair, kissing her forehead before tilting her face to look at him with a touch of his fingers to her quivering chin. He tries to smile a smile he knows she doesn't believe while she tries to believe the words she knows he doesn't. His kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, are meant to still her tears, her fears, but only serve to awaken her body, arouse her need for him. "Mulder... Mulder...," escapes her lips as a desperate whisper that he recognizes as a cry for an answer to her need. He turns to her, kissing her hard, pulling her body to his, stroking her back, her stomach, grasping and kneading her breast in movements as desperate as her need. He kisses her jaw as she tilts her head as an invitation to his lips from her throat, the tendons at the base of her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. She combs her fingers through his hair, down his neck, over his shoulders before his lips descend to her stomach, her abdomen-- a move that arches her back. She bends her knees as he slides down further, another invitation from her body to his. The touch of his mouth on her opening is more than she can quietly endure, the sound of her moan causing him to shudder, to pause before he can continue. His lips, his tongue, his fingers make love to her in ways she's never felt and in ways she hopes he has never before felt like doing with anyone else. It isn't long before she climaxes, panting, as he moves up her body to kiss her, reaching to stroke her thighs, her stomach, between her legs, until she calms. He watches her face, reading the deep look of love held in her sated expression. She reaches for him and kisses him lightly, tenderly. "I don't think I can leave again, Scully," he sighs, laying his head near her breast, his hand smoothing her abdomen, her hip, counting her ribs. "I want to be here with you... and William." "Oh, Mulder. I only wish we had that choice..." ADDRESS UNKNOWN THREE WEEKS LATER SUNDAY, 4:02pm He watches the screen hoping for a message from her, deleting the others so meaningless. Virtually everything is without meaning to him now, only she and their son mattering in the whole scheme of things. They had set up this time for a message, a time far enough removed from their visit that he could move and backtrack enough to throw them off course in case their reunion had been noticed. He would get this one message, then move on, to unknown locations and then other locations away from other places he had been before. He orders a club sandwich, paying in cash as always. Crumbs from the toast sprinkle the black keys of the computer as he again checks his mailbox. In a moment he sees it, 'Queequeg0925@hotmail.com', his body systems, his accelerated breathing, his tapping fingers, betraying his need to remain calm and inconspicuous. The time it takes for the message to come up on the screen is but an instant, but it becomes his eternity. "Trust_no1@mail.com. You must know what I am feeling right now because I know you must be feeling the same emotions. But I find no comfort in this forced way we now find ourselves sharing our feelings. I miss you so much and I miss you even more for William. The passage of time is supposed to make grieving lessen, but the pain in my soul just seems to grow more each day that I am away from you. And that you are away from us. I am having a hard time, Mulder. My ability to concentrate, to prepare for my classes, is compromised and I know my students deserve better. I want to be more than a curiosity to them, but I don't have the emotional strength to give much time to anyone but William and to my thoughts of you. We continue to be determined in finding a way to end all this, to bring you back home, but I'm not sure how much longer I can go on like this, Mulder. My memories of our days together and my hope for a return to that comfortable existence are all that keep me going, but also serve as a constant reminder of what I am missing without you here. I hope you are able to receive this safely and take every precaution to stay safe so that you can come home to us, to me. I love you. As always, Dana. REFLECTING POOL WASHINGTON, DC MONDAY, 12:15pm She sits on the bench, their bench; a light snow falling, tourists meandering, other government workers going about their everyday tasks-all go unnoticed by her. She is watching nothing else, but is concentrating on something, something she is reading. She smiles, but it is a bittersweet smile, her uncertainty noticeable, even to strangers. She reads the well- worn piece of paper she holds over and over, holding it, caring for it as if it were a valuable document being held for mankind. But it is only a piece of paper to mankind, but to her it is the rest of her life. "Dearest Dana; Everything we've been working for has finally happened, everything we have been trying to end is over. I've compromised many things to make this happen, Dana, but not our safety and not the truth. It is all we can ask for and have our lives returned to us. I've had a lot of time to think in these many months alone and have come to the realization that what I've really been searching for, what I've really wanted all along is to have my family. And now, that is you and our son. I'll be home by week's end, to you and to William. It's over. Mulder" THE END Feedback welcomed at philer@onemain.com.