She glanced over at him as he shifted in the seat trying to get more comfortable, but not waking. His hand came to rest on her thigh. She looked down at it, so strong and familiar. Mulder’s hand, how many times had she gazed at it, longed for it to touch her like a man touches a woman?
She was back in that basement office, holding out her hand to him. She had been trying to look confident, competent, her back straight, her head held high. God she had been naïve. He had shaken her hand, but his cockiness had shown through. It was the first time they had touched. She’d had no idea where it would lead.
And the touching had continued. The man had no concept of space, thank god. She had held his hand in far too many hospitals, willing him to return to her. How many times? When he’d been shot - nearly fatally - when she had met Luther Lee Boggs; in Alaska, after he had nearly died from his struggle with the Bounty Hunter,. . . when his mother had killed herself.
He had done the same for her. When she had been shot by that ‘partner’ of hers in New York, his hand in hers had not only healed her body, but kept her sane in the face of the unfaceable.
He had held her when she had lost Melissa and Emily. He hadn’t known what he did for her then, she hadn’t either.
She didn’t doubt that he had even kept William safe, still inside of her body. When she’d been hospitalized so late in her pregnancy, Mulder had been distant, unsure of himself or his place in her life. His hand on her belly there in the hospital was the first time he had touched their son. He had felt William move then and, and had seemed to understand things better.
And the little times, when he brushed the sauce from her face after eating ribs, when his fingers had rested against her lower back walking to the car, when his hand had covered hers during take offs and landings.
She hadn’t known it at the time, but even after her near death at the bridge, during her hypnosis, she had reached for him, for his hand. It was a long time afterward that he told her about that incident.
During her cancer, his hands had brought relief though he didn’t know it. She hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t wanted to admit something so ‘unscientific’ could help her. But her headaches had diminished with his hand in hers.
She knew without a doubt that his hand on hers while she lay in a coma, trying to decide whether to stay or leave, had decided her. How could she leave this man, even way back then? She knew his hands; she knew what he was to her. Not admitting it had been a protective device.
Oh she knew about strong men, and the affect they had on her. But no one, not Daniel, not Ethan, not even her father, was as strong as this man. This man had seen so much, endured so much and it had only made his touch on her more gentle, more caring.
That had been a lifetime ago. Now his hands weren’t limited to her hands any longer. His hands on her body, caressing her, bringing her to ecstasy, kept her alive now. Their lives would someday be normal she prayed. She had to believe that, in the meantime, his hand belonged on her thigh while he rested and she drove them to the next, hopefully safe, place.
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Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunman and Skinner all belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. No infringement intended.