From: akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
      
   TITLE:  Camera Obscura I:  Latency   
   AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan   
   EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
   DISTRIBUTION:  I'd be delighted.  Just let me know.   
      
   RATING:  R for sexual situations and language   
   CATEGORIES:  VRA   
   KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance   
   SPOILERS:  Season 2, specifically the abduction arc and "Red Museum"   
      
   SUMMARY:  It was there all along, just waiting to be seen, waiting to   
   develop.   
      
   Disclaimer:  Everybody in this belongs to somebody else.   
      
   Author's Notes:  Some really nice people suggested I explore the   
   Mulder/Scully relationship through my personal timeline of their   
   history.  They're probably going to regret that.  Nonetheless, this is   
   the first in a series of several stories that will attempt to do just   
   that, from Mulder's point of view.  This is a companion series to   
   "Camera Lucida," told from Scully's point of view.  You should   
   immediately go read tree's brilliant "Camera Lucida I: Latency."   
   Honestly, you really must read them as a pair.  We insist.   
      
   Thanks:  To Anjou, for the initial spark.  And a paean of praise to   
   the beta goddess tree, for transoceanic encouragement and advice, for   
   editing of uncommon brilliance, insight, and diplomacy, and for gamely   
   and beautifully taking on Scully.  This is an entirely different, and   
   infinitely better, story than it would have been without her.  And it   
   was a whole lot of fun, too.   
      
   *********************   
      
   Later he would tell himself that he didn't know what made him reach   
   for her that night, but at the moment it was crystal clear.  She's   
   back she's here she's okay she came back to me.  The words spun   
   through his mind in a whispered litany, the hum building to a   
   deafening roar of need and want and hunger to bind her to him with   
   unbreakable ties so that she could never slip away again.  In that   
   instant he wished for bonds of iron, a prison for two of their own   
   devising, but the only chain he had was his own body, taut as steel   
   for her.  He would remember it as seduction, but at that moment he   
   knew it was supplication.   
      
   It was the ribs.  He sat across the tiny table from her, feeling   
   ridiculous in a plastic bib the likes of which he normally wouldn't   
   have put on even for lobster, and watched her nibble those messy   
   morsels with abandon.  The sight made his throat dry.  There were   
   moments like this now, since she had come back (to him), been returned   
   (to him), where she seemed a stranger (to him).  A stranger who smiled   
   at him around the flesh between her lips, who licked her fingers and   
   drew bones between her small, sharp teeth.  Sucking the marrow of   
   life.  Marrow.  Ribs.  Adam's rib.  The woman made from the rib, the   
   woman sprung from the man, from the hardness that protected his heart,   
   the woman consuming the hardness...  His blood pounded as the words   
   whispered in his head until he had to close his eyes against the noise.   
      
   And that fucking drop of sauce.  Jesus.  His stomach turned as his   
   mind supplied in perfect detail the image of her gagged in the trunk   
   of a car, a streak of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth,   
   thick and red just like the drop that clung there now.  He swallowed   
   back a wave of nausea.  No way could he eat.  With a trembling hand he   
   reached out and wiped the spot away, then closed his fingers tightly   
   around the napkin as if the evidence would just disappear if he wanted   
   it to badly enough.   
      
   He had spent the weeks since she came back looking for loathing,   
   hatred, accusation.  He dreaded meeting her eyes and finding them   
   there, but he couldn't make himself look away.  A few times he had   
   caught this expression instead, and it was as if he had been thrown   
   into a crucible.  He didn't understand it, couldn't imagine what it   
   meant.  This look she gave him would leave him fine and pure as   
   silver, or perhaps burn away his mortal soul.  He felt the heat flash   
   through his veins and settle low and treacherous inside him.   
      
   Later, when he replayed this evening in his memory, he would find that   
   he had only hazy pictures of the rest of that meal.  The moments   
   between her hot glance and the first press of her lips under his were   
   lost to him, missing time.  He only remembered the impulse to kiss   
   her, the one whose motives he would later disavow, and the way he   
   caught her between his body and the little table beneath his window.   
   Some part of his mind noted with absolute clarity the exact angle of   
   his back as he bent toward her.  He didn't give her time to think or   
   react or protest.  He cupped her face in his hands, not daring to look   
   in her eyes, and bent to kiss her, stopping the word in her mouth.   
      
   She was stunned and still beneath his touch for only a moment before   
   she reached for him.  Her arms were half-caught in the sleeves of her   
   coat, and she couldn't bring them up around his neck without wrestling   
   free of the thick wool, but her fingers slid up his stomach to fan   
   across his chest and her lips parted under the insistent pressure of   
   his.  He was glad she didn't struggle.  He wished that she would fight   
   him.  He was hot, almost feverish, his muscles tight as piano wire.   
   Her fingers played the ivory of his ribs, and he groaned softly before   
   he pulled away.  "Mulder?" she whispered.   
      
   Whatever it was that had brought him there, it vanished under a surge   
   of pure desire as he looked down into her glittering eyes and ran his   
   gaze over her kiss-swollen lips.  "I don't want you to leave tonight,   
   Scully."   
      
   She swallowed, her face flushing under the heat in his eyes, and then   
   she nodded slowly, her mouth tilting up at the corners.  "Then I won't   
   leave."   
      
   He felt the words against his lips and drew her to him to seal her   
   promise.  "I don't have anything," he breathed into the curve of her   
   teeth.   
      
   "It's okay."  He pulled away, but she caught him and held him to her   
   with small, strong hands in the hollow of his spine.  "It's taken care   
   of," she clarified.   
      
   He nodded, eyes narrowed against a surge of jealousy and something   
   bitter and hard like disappointment.  He imagined filling her with his   
   child, a bond of flesh stronger than any baser element could ever be.   
      
   "I'm clean," he said, his voice coming out low and grim through the   
   tightness of his chest.  Clean except for the things that will never   
   show up on a blood test, clean except for one night when your   
   apparition scorching my eyes drove me to seek your presence in a cheap   
   clay idol, clean except for the filth of that night which is still   
   pressed into every crease of my heart.  His eyes slid away from hers   
   as he mouthed the words.  If she noticed, he didn't see it.   
      
   She dragged him back to her with the curl of her fingers.  He slid the   
   bulky coat from her arms and tossed it over the chair.  His own   
   followed it an instant later, and they worked at each other's buttons   
   between long, dizzying kisses.  She was pale and insubstantial before   
   him, an eidolon.  The skin beneath his hands was too fragile to   
   contain her, and his breath quickened in sudden fear that she would   
   shrug out of its tenuous embrace.  He backed her toward the bed and   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)