TITLE: The Falling Cease





AUTHOR: Rae Lynn (rae_lynn05Atyahoo.com)





RATING: G





CLASSIFICATION: V, A





SPOILERS: Biogenesis/The Sixth Extinction/Amor Fati





KEYWORDS: Post-episode.





DISCLAIMER: All characters contained within are the property of Chris 


Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions.  No profit will result from this 


story and no copyright infringement is intended.





ARCHIVE: Inquire within.





SUMMARY: Post-Amor Fati.  I want to check your stitches, 


she says.


_____________________





I want to check your stitches, she says.


	


His stitches do not need checking -- his doctor has, in 


fact, just inspected the sutures himself -- but he craves 


her touch as much as she needs to feel his skin thrumming 


beneath her fingers.  He nods once and moves closer to her; 


for a brief second she misses his leer, his innuendo, the 


joke he might have made about mummies, or Humpty Dumpty put 


together again.  But she sets her jaw against this kind of 


thinking; she has no time for missing him now, not when he 


sits alive in front of her, almost well, almost more than 


she has dared to hope.


	


He sits and she stands; they become opposites, as always, 


she thinks.  Her fingers want to tremble as she reaches for 


his bandages and she allows them this small comfort, 


knowing that he has closed his eyes and will not see.  


	


He shivers but does not flinch when her fingers brush 


against his skin.  I need to put on gloves, she murmurs as 


she pulls reluctantly away.  


	


His voice is loud in the small space.  No, he says, 


startling them both.  Please.  She considers the implied 


threat in the sound of latex snapping against skin, the 


implicit warning of violation and violence that might 


follow.  


	


Okay, she says softly.  Let me wash my hands.


	


When she returns he is still sitting with his eyes closed, 


his body swaying slightly in a disquieting rhythm.  His 


beautiful mind, her mind hisses in an echo that seems to 


fill the whole room.  She calls his name and his eyes fly 


open.


	


I'm sorry, she says.  I didn't mean to startle you.  


	


You didn't, he says, and she finds herself mesmerized by 


the rise and fall of his shoulders, the small thrill of 


life in his eyes when he looks at her.  


	


Are you ready? she asks as she steps closer.  He nods and 


she savors the sound of his breath as it enters the room.  


	


Her own breath is sharp and catches in her throat as her 


hands gently probe at the staples in his skull.  God, she 


says, forgetting her vow to keep her anger private.  





I don't understand, she murmurs.  Why did they save you?  





He opens his eyes slowly, as if coming awake.  


 


You're the one who saved me, he says.  





________


END.





AUTHOR'S NOTES:


I cherish feedback at rae_lynn05ATyahoo.com.  Thanks for 


reading!





The title of this story is taken from "For the Anniversary 


of My Death," by W.S. Merwin, one of my favorite poets:





Every year without knowing it I have passed the day


When the last fires will wave to me


And the silence will set out


Tireless traveler


Like the beam of a lightless star





Then I will no longer


Find myself in life as in a strange garment


Surprised at the earth


And the love of one woman


And the shamelessness of men


As today writing after three days of rain


Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease


And boding not knowing to what