Hands

by DrunkSails

Title : Hands.
Author : DrunkSails (DrunkSails@Yahoo.fr). Archive : Ask me before.
Rating : NC-17.
Pairing : Scully/Reyes.
Spoiler : After "The truth" and my first fic "The keys", in which Scully and Monica had a first love affair.
Disclaimer : Scully, Reyes and Skinner are not mine, they belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox.
Note : Special thanks to Liz for the corrections ; to My Fool for Poetry, Amber, who brought -among other things- Emily Dickinson from darkness to my light ; and to A.K, just to intrigue her.

I wish you'll enjoy this story and could forgive the American imperfections of a French hand and a fresh writer.

Chapter 1.

De Profundis Clamavi.

I implore You, my only love, your pity From the depths of the abyss where my heart lies buried. It's a gloomy universe, to the horizon of lead Where swims in the night dread and blasphemy.

A sun without warmth has hovered for six months And for six more, night has covered the ground. It's a landscape more bare than polar mounds, -Without beasts, without streams, with neither green nor tree stumps.

No horror in the world can overcome
The cold cruelty of this icy sun
And this immense night like the ancient Chaos;

I envy the animals most wretched and base Who lose themselves in what stupid sleep they find, So slow is the skein of time to unwind.

The Flowers of Sickness, Charles Baudelaire, translation by William A. Sigler.

        Streets of Washington, Saturday 11:15 pm.
        The pavement so rough, so hard. One step, one shake. Its coldness knocks at me again 

and again, jerkily splits me, like your name endlessly struck against my breast. Dana.Dana.Dana. Your silence's a slow and cruel poison. Your indifference's that drenching rain which is eroding me, deeply inside. Two months without news, two months without you. Deprived of your caresses, my skin's naked. I'm so cold, Dana. I'm walking, walking and still walking, just because movement helps me to stand, if I stop without your arms around me, I'll fall down. I need you, I'm frozen. I love you. I love you so. My nights are black like void.
I need to drink my mind away.

        Reyes' apartment, 2:46 am.
        Home. Keys.. Spinning head.... Stand still.. Lock.. Fuckin' shakin' hands... 
Open, at last. Couch.
        5:34 am. She'd have rather liked to sleep for ever than to awake back to the worst. 

Despair struck her first, then the mixture of alcohol and lack of sleep. She ran into the bathroom and threw up till exhaustion got her lying down in a cold sweat on the icy tiled floor. She remained there for a while, weary, in the blinding neon light. Then she slowly stood up, still shaking, and faced the mirror. All the strength she had left suddenly gathered in her fist that struck and smashed it to pieces. Her hand bleeding, she staggered her way to the bedroom, dropped into her bed and cried into sleep.

11:23 am. The phone woke her up with a start. She waited a few seconds for her heartbeats to slow down and picked up the phone with her wounded hand.






Chapter 2.

        Dana's house, Cape Cod, Sunday 9:13 am.
        Your hands around my neck, along my body, your hands, dividing my breasts, girdling 

my hips and clasping my thighs, your hands, caressing, clawing me, drawing the scars of my forbidden flame, I love you Monica. Why shall this dream always break onto the daylight's strand?
She was still lying on her bed, musing in the faint light of a rainy morning. She had left Monica to run away with Mulder, but she'd understood, too late, the very reasons of her fleeing with him. She loved him, yet not enough to follow him and share his life. What she'd really fled from was her love for Monica, for a woman. She was still scared of her own feelings, of their implications, but she desperately loved her. After dreadful weeks of hesitation, she'd confessed it to a surprisingly understanding Mulder. He'd left her kindly, with thanks for all she had done for him. And now, she was here, expecting Skinner's call to announce her Monica's coming. She'd asked him not to reveal her name, she was too afraid she could refuse to come, but she'd consented to let her know about New Orleans yet, so as to intrigue and incline her to agree. That waiting was a true torture. If Monica guessed it was her and refused to come? Or if she didn't guess, how'd she react when she'd see her? She loved her so much, could Monica forgive her? She had a throaty fear. For the whole morning, she had been waiting in that great black tremor, unable to do or think anything consistent, when the phone suddenly rang. She froze, deeply breathed in and picked up the receiver :






Chapter 3.

She got back in her pathfinder, soaked to the skin. She'd had to change that fuckin' punctured wheel for almost an hour, under a lashing rain, with just a torch to see. She was exhausted, at the end of her tether. Her hand was bleeding again through the bandage. Fortunately, there weren't many miles left before arriving. She hadn't wondered any longer if it was Dana or not, she was now certain of it. Instinct. But the closer to Dana's home she was, the worse she felt. A sort of dull violence was rising in herself, because of anger, pain and fear. She was angry against Dana, her leaving with Mulder, her so long silence. It deeply hurt, wrecked herself. But, in the same time, she was afraid that Dana could have called her back just as friend.

As she arrived, she was totally lost and worn out. She stayed sitting in her car for a while, petrified by her fear and her conflicting feelings. She was parked in front of Dana's house. It was a lonely house, situated near the coast. She could see the ocean in the distance. Outside, the weather had worsened and was turning into storm. The rain was pouring down and the trees were furiously bowing because of high wind. But what struck Monica in all that fury was just a slight movement : Dana's movement, as she looked through the window after who had arrived. Her heartbeats started to rush, she suddenly felt dizzy. Then she tried to gather herself, got off her car and ran at the door. She was about to knock when Dana opened the door.




Chapter 4.

She had no hope any more. It was nearly midnight. But Monica was finally here, on her doorstep. She was completely soaked and looked exhausted and feverish. They stared at each other a long moment, both unable to say anything. Then Dana silently ushered her inside. Monica entered, her arms folded around her shivering body. She looked around the spacious living-room and turned back to face Dana, who broke the heavy silence.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves*. "How could I leave her and hurt her so deeply?", Dana wondered. Monica's body curled against hers, she was shedding tears for pain and relief. She loved her beyond compare. Without her, she would just be a lack of embrace, wandering. Not even a being, hardly a rough sketch, a few lines craving for an impossible accomplishment. She held her tighter. But as she did it, she noticed Monica was still soaked and that the bandage of her hand was red-blood. She undertook therefore to take off her wet clothes and to put her something dry on. Monica didn't even awake, as she was so deeply sleeping. Dana laid her on the couch with a warm blanket on. Then, she took care of her wounded hand. She cleaned it _ "Cuts, how did she get that?" _ and put a new bandage. Yet she was still worried, because Monica had a very high temperature. In fact, she'd never seen her so weak. But, well, it was impossible to give her medicine now, she was too heavily asleep.






Chapter 5.

The Smile.

There is a smile of love,
And there is a smile of deceit,
And there is a smile of smiles
In which these two smiles meet.

And there is a frown of hate,
And there is a frown of disdain,
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart's deep core
And it sticks in the deep backbone -
And no smile that ever was smil'd,
But only one smile alone,

That betwixt the cradle and grave
It only once smil'd can be ;
And, when it once is smil'd,
There's an end to all misery.

The Pickering Manuscript, William Blake.

Outside as inside, the storm had abated. Dana had been watching over Monica for two days now. She'd hardly slept _ Monica had been so bad, even delirious because of fever _ , thus she'd just taken a few naps when she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Fortunately, this evening, the temperature had begun lowering, she could go to bed, at last. She leaned over the sleeping Monica, laid a soft kiss on her brow and got into bed. She fell asleep with a smile while reminded of Monica calling her in her agitated sleep.

The daylight awoke Monica. She still felt weary, but good sign : she was hungry. She hardly remembered the two last days, excepted Dana's soothing presence beside herself. Dana was still sleeping, she'd heard her go to bed and was reminded with a smile of Dana's kiss on her forehead. She sat up and was surprised by her clothes : she was wearing strange pyjamas with flying saucers and little green men printed on, probably Mulder's pyjamas Dana had put on her. She didn't like anything that had a link with him, but she was inwardly pleased to be here, in these pyjamas, instead of him. Well, she was actually hungry. She got up and went into the kitchen where she had a tasty breakfast. She felt a little better now, she went back to the living-room and sat on the couch, thinking of everything that had happened. She was a bit ashamed of her "scene" two days ago, but Dana had been asking for it. She'd been so desperate and angry. She was wondering if Dana really wanted or was ready to share her life with her. She was certain that Dana loved her, if not she would neither have dismissed Mulder, nor taken care of her like she had. But how deeply did she love her, how far? She was thus wrapped in her musings, looking about, when she saw the guitar standing against the wall. She didn't know Dana had a guitar, maybe it was Mulder's, but she doubted that, he wasn't the guy to play music. Anyway, she picked it up, sat back on the couch and began playing. Her hand was aching, it was bearable yet. She continued and started to sing low the song she'd written when she'd fallen in love with Dana, but had been thinking then it was a dead-end story.

Your eyelids have ended my light,
The amber of the sun for the shadow of the night, The Great Blazing in the sea sunk,
The moon defaced and the stars scattered, You're asleep, black night.

I'd like to grasp you in my arms,
To make with you love we won't make,
My opened heart at your closed face,
I'm dying for your embrace.
Might my sleeping secret,
Despite my wishes, you, never awake!
You would think I've lost my reason,
Please be deaf to my song.

Then your eyelids back drawn,
At last, here is my dawn.
Compelled to devour my heart again,
To preserve from deeper dark,
That lesser Hell I am given.
But this day, I can't help anymore,
My heart screams, your sentence comes : The banishment, my great death,
Into the night, I lonely fall.
Stab me, kill me my love,
Please finish me off,
Grant me this little death :
Your hand thrust into my heart,
My eyelids _ relief _ forever closed.

Dana awoke and was first bewildered, but she understood : Monica had found Melissa's guitar. The guitar hadn't been played anymore since her sister's death, she wouldn't have allowed it besides. But Monica and this guitar, it was somehow obvious. She got up and headed for the living-room. She stopped at the doorway. Monica had her back turned to her, she didn't know if she had noticed her presence, then she leaned against the door stile and listened to her singing. Monica had felt Dana's presence but she finished the song.






Chapter 6.

The Love a Life can show Below
Is but a filament, I know,
Of that diviner thing
That faints upon the face of Noon -
And smites the Tinder in the Sun -
And hinders Gabriel's Wing -

'Tis this - in Music - hints and sways - And far abroad on Summer days -
Distils uncertain pain -
'Tis this enamors in the East -
And tints the Transit in the West
With harrowing Iodine -

'Tis this - invites - appals - endows - Flits - glimmers - proves - dissolves - Returns - suggests - convicts - enchants - Then - flings in Paradise -

Emily Dickinson.

They stayed a long moment standing in an embrace until Dana slightly tilted her head and brought her lips near Monica's ear. "Come", she whispered. She slid one hand down Monica's back and took her hand which wasn't wounded. She thus led her to the bedroom. There, they slowly leaned into each other and sealed their love in the softest kiss, tenderly entangling their fate with their tongue. Then the kiss got deeper as the clothing lighter. They both were soon lying naked and embraced on the bed. Monica leaned on an elbow over Dana, they were kissing. Monica's fit hand was roaming again the reliefs of her quivering world. All Dana's thoughts were focused on this hand caressing her body. It was now trailing on the hills of her thighs but still avoiding the inner valley, as if Monica wanted to take revenge of her cruel silence by the silence of her hand on her sex. It was torture, and when Monica's hand slid down to her inner thighs and suddenly penetrated her, she abruptly arched, moaning against her lover's lips, her left hand almost clawing Monica's back, her right hand tightly covering the guilty hand. Then, Monica broke the kiss and kissed her way to Dana's breast. Meanwhile, her hand was teasing on Dana's inner thighs and stroked her up to heaven, shivering, gasping.

Still shaking, she took Monica's head in her hands and brought her mouth against hers. She deeply kissed her and rolled them over. She was now on the top, exploring Monica's body with her gaze and hand. She was fascinated by the shimmers of her so soft amber skin. Her hand slid along Monica's body and coiled up in her warm spot. Monica was moaning, quivering, her hips were waving with the caress of Dana's hand. She almost fainted when she came. When they both got over their emotions, they stayed tenderly holding each other.

The End/Hand.


If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to DrunkSails