From: char@chaffin.com   
      
   NO ARCHIVE   
      
      
      
   JUST ANOTHER SLEEPLESS NIGHT   
   By Char Chaffin   
   MSR, R, Post-Closure   
   Spoilers:  Early Season Seven, "Emily", brief mention of "Detour"   
   Disclaimer:  Clones on Loan   
      
   Dedication:  To Sallie, who smiled when she needed to and who asked   
   for first-time "Closure" as a reward for doing so!   
      
   Thanks: to Tess, Carol and Robin for the quickie read and zippy   
   beta!  Thank ya, my dears!   
      
      
      
   "Just Another Sleepless Night"   
      
      
   I sometimes think it's a shame we've both been blessed - or cursed,   
   depending on how you look at it - with questioning, analytical minds.   
   It's kept me awake on nights when I most need some sort of   
   replenishing sleep; it's done the same to Scully.  For as many times   
   as I've called her in the middle of the night complaining that this   
   or that idea or thought - or worry - was keeping me awake, she has   
   returned the favor.  Maybe not as often as I've called her, but she's   
   had her share of sleepless nights, too.   
      
   I remember once, not long after Emily's funeral, Scully called me at   
   four in the morning.  I'd been dozing, TV muted low, all the lights   
   out.  Her voice had been thick with tears and I'd sat on my sofa with   
   the phone cradled to my ear, listening to her grieving and wishing   
   like hell she'd just let me come over so that I could comfort her   
   properly.   
      
   I'd murmured those very words to her, my own voice hoarse with   
   sympathy.  Her reply hadn't really surprised me.  "Mulder, I... thank   
   you, but I need to get through this on my own.  You can't help me or   
   speed up the grieving period.  Nobody can."   
      
   I rubbed my tired eyes with one hand, picturing her curled up on the   
   end of her sofa, wiping at the tears I could hear over the receiver,   
   and my heart just broke for her.  I'd cajoled gently, "That's true.   
   I can't speed it up for you.  But I can hold you, Scully.  I can   
   comfort you with actions if not words.  You could cry on my shoulder   
   instead of into your telephone."   
      
   "No.  It's not that I don't appreciate it, Mulder.  I do.  But if   
   you came over here and I leaned on you, I wouldn't regain any level   
   of strength.  You know that.  It was the same when your father died,   
   remember?  You had to do it alone.  When Missy died, too... somehow   
   we've both needed to mourn by ourselves, regroup alone.  It's just   
   the way we are."   
      
   She was right.  It WAS the way we were, back when we were younger   
   and had less partnership, friendship, caring, whatever you want to   
   call the measure of what we meant to each other... we needed to stand   
   alone.  At the time, I was sure I understood, and I agreed softly   
   into the phone, murmured to her a few minutes more and didn't protest   
   when she hung up the phone.  I didn't call her back and when we met   
   in our office the next morning, I followed her conversational lead;   
   the phone call wasn't mentioned again.  Over the next few years,   
   whenever one or the other of us had overworked-brain-syndrome and   
   couldn't sleep, we still exchanged phone calls.  Everything more or   
   less stayed the same as it had always been.   
      
   Until two nights ago.   
      
   ********************   
      
   In the small, dark hours of the morning I hold her in my arms and   
   think of how this all started, with nothing more than a phone call.   
   This time I was the one doing the calling.  Two days ago I buried my   
   sister... more or less.  Days before that I'd stood in a dreary   
   graveyard and buried my mother, the last known living member of my   
   biological family.  Other, unrelated family stood on either side of   
   me, lending their support.  Scully, holding my hand.  Skinner,   
   standing beside me and offering silent strength.  Even the guys had   
   come and were grouped behind me; I could feel their three-fold   
   caring, awkward and self-conscious but present all the same, aimed   
   right at me.  No words were spoken; none were needed.  Their quiet   
   presence got me through that black day.  They bolstered my inner   
   fortitude.  I knew I could make it, regardless of what I later would   
   discover about my sister.   
      
   A few days ago we did it all over again, this time with a small   
   marker next to my parents' gravesite.  Above ground that would never   
   be dug out to enclose a casket, I'd had the inscribed stone placed.   
   Samantha's name, her birth date, estimated date of death and the   
   words, "Sister and Daughter, Most Beloved."  I'd put the word   
   'sister' first because I'd always felt she belonged more to me, than   
   to my parents.  I refused to allow any guilt feelings to surface as   
   I'd written out the instructions to the monument company.  I'd been   
   amazed at how quickly they'd finished the job; maybe they'd felt   
   sorry for me.  At any rate I got the deed done, and this time with   
   only Scully at my side, I laid my sister to rest, at last.   
      
   But this time I couldn't make it alone, as I'd been able to in the   
   past.  This time when it all hit me in absolute waves, I picked up   
   the phone and I called Scully.   
      
   "It's me.  I can't sleep.  I can't stop my brain from thinking.  I   
   can't seem to stop my eyes, from seeing..."  My voice threaded out to   
   nothing as I clutched the phone to my ear like a lifeline.   
      
   She never hesitated, never said a word about the lateness of the   
   hour, the fact that she'd have to drive through the rain to get to   
   me.  She merely said, "I'm on my way, Mulder," and hung up gently,   
   before I could admonish her to take a cab.  I sat, holding the   
   receiver in my hand, until she got there.  I must have self-induced   
   myself into a trance because I never heard her at the door, unlocking   
   it.  My first awareness of her arrival came when she tugged the phone   
   out of my hand and then pulled me into her arms.   
      
   I didn't cry; I was curiously beyond tears.  It's not that I curled   
   into a fetal position in Scully's embrace and moaned aloud of how   
   alone I now was, an orphan, sibling-less, the last of my direct line.   
   I knew I still had family; they just were not of my blood.  The   
   connection I'd felt with her, with Skinner and with the guys at the   
   funeral... that was all still in place.  There was my family. But for   
   the first time my grief manifested itself into a need to feel another   
   body against mine.  Call it comfort, call it something else; didn't   
   matter.  It was what it was, and I needed it.   
      
   So, I discovered later, did Scully... more than even she knew.   
      
   I can't say when the small touches of empathy turned into something   
   else.  It seemed one moment Scully's hand was pressed against my   
   face, holding my cheek to hers, and the next moment I'd turned my   
   head a little and caught her bottom lip in a kiss.  Not one of   
   gratitude, not exactly; more than friendship and somewhat less than   
   blatant passion.  It wasn't a continuation of that sweet but   
   milquetoast kiss of New Year's Eve, but a kiss that defied   
   description.  Like my need for her physical presence, it simply was   
   what it was.   
      
   Suddenly craving more, I moved my lips a little and covered her   
   mouth fully, gave her the kiss I'd always wanted to give her.  Full   
   and open, hungry, tongues touching and twisting together; one breath,   
   issued together.  She cupped my face and kissed me back, just as   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)