From: "J Ferreira" Believer VII: We Two Together Clinging By Chana Rating: NC-17 Summary: Do the dying dream? Spoilers: US4 Archive: List archive okay; anywhere else, ask first. Disclaimer: I do not own Scully or Mulder. I own Elisabeth Shaugnessy. This was written under the influence of Immunology 125a, four hours of sleep in the past 32, and finals being Monday.There is cancer, there is angst, and there is sex involving two women. If you are not allowed under state or national law to view such material, please do what you consider right. Feedback, Questions, Cold leftover turkey: janegrey18@hotmail.com December 24, 1996 11 PM **** "Merry Christmas." Scully had never felt herself at the limit of speech. Now drawing in enough air for words was an act of resistance, a struggle against the part of her that soothed, *letting go would be so much easier than this*. "Merry Christmas, Dana." *It's not Christmas yet. It's not midnight. Please stay with me past midnight.* Elisabeth's eyes were sticky with tears. She looked at the floor, at the rail of the bed, anything for Dana not to see them, and take in Elisabeth's grief as she had her family's. "Have you slept?" "Yes, I - not really." Scully sighed. Slowly, every inch of her bruised and burning, she shifted to leave enough room for Elisabeth on the narrow mattress. "Dana -" "Please." She ground her teeth against the sudden stabbing behind her eye, and against the small, leaden syllables her voice allowed her when there was so much still left to say. And then Elisabeth was beside her, awkward and hesitant and scrupulously careful not to touch her and cause pain. Fuck pain. Scully broke the awkwardness, closed the distance, and pressed her face into the hollow of Elisabeth's throat. Her first impression was of warmth, curtained by Elisabeth's long hair and cushioned in her sweater. A faint rich scent that stilled the nausea. At last Elisabeth's arms went around her, and her lips pressed hard to Scully's forehead, and all the vague impressions solidified. She drew away, to look into Elisabeth's eyes. "This is… This is not where I want us to be." Scully tried to laugh, but the sound twisted in her throat and surfaced as a sob. "I know, love." "What would you be doing at home now? For Christmas." "You mean, at home in Ireland? Or at home with you?" She chose the answer herself. "Drinking eggnog and finishing up the tree. Singing Christmas songs, though you'd have to handle the high notes." "Oh, no. I can't sing." Charmed, Scully smiled against Elisabeth's skin. "Neither can I. We'll do it anyway." Elisabeth swallowed. This was too sweet, and too painful, and too much. But she went on, spinning a roomful of light and warmth for the sake of Dana's Christmas. "And we'd hang mistletoe, and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' , and stick a Christmas bow on the cat. And at midnight we'd open champagne, and just sit in the dark and just look at the tree…" She yawned. Dana was already still against her, her breath light and slow in sleep. Everything would still be all right if she only closed her eyes for a second… The apartment was strewn with ornament boxes. Scully threaded her way through the drifts of tissue paper without spilling too much of her eggnog, although the fact that Elisabeth had thinned the mixture liberally with some fragrant alcohol probably contributed to her unsteadiness. Or maybe it was just Elisabeth herself. She had shed her sweater and turtleneck, and stood on a chair between the hallway and the living room in a silk tank top, her bare arms glowing in the candlelight as she reached up to hang the last sprig of mistletoe. Her feet were bare, her jeans were held on only precariously at her hips, and she had forgotten to put on a bra that morning. *Forgot. My ass.* Scully smirked. She set down her cup and worked open the buttons of her - well, Mulder's - oxford. Two could definitely play at this game. The tack hammer slipped from Elisabeth's grasp. She stood where she was, blushing, until Scully crossed the floor and reached up for her hand. Then she slipped down from the chair, her hair falling forward to brush like leaves against Scully's cheek. "That takes care of the mistletoe, then," she whispered. The color spread from her cheeks to her throat to her freckled collarbones. "It does," Scully agreed, and kissed her. She stepped back, drawing Elisabeth with her, and suddenly her vision blurred into a wild tangle of arms and legs, pale and dark red hair. Their teeth clicked together and Elisabeth yelped as they unbalanced, landing on top of one another on the couch. *The couch? Since when is the couch there? Oh…yeah… the tree.* Scully blinked, dazedly, and heard a laugh from the woman pressed beneath her. "That, Doctor Scully, was incredibly romantic." Elisabeth giggled. "But your knee is kind of - oh - ah, you can leave it right there," she finished as Scully shifted her weight, bringing her leg up hard between Elisabeth's. Her fingertips dug into Scully's shoulders, and her nipples were suddenly apparent beneath the thin silk of her top. A low, first-glass-of-wine excitement heated the air between them. Scully swept her hand over the warm curve of her lover's stomach, from the waistband of her jeans up to the valley between her breasts, where Elisabeth trapped the hand in hers and held it. "Dana, wait." She fought the urge to grind her teeth in frustration. And waited. The intoxication that rippled through her, making her so impatient, had very little to do Elisabeth's recipe for eggnog. "I love you." Scully smiled then, and watched Elisabeth's expression blossom in kind. She gazed down for a long moment, knowing Elisabeth would wait, too. But she didn't need the time; the answer was right there. Blending with the trust and the desire, or giving rise to it, she wasn't sure. "I love you. Oh, God, I love you." Again they kissed. Pressed body to body in the slim confines of the couch, they fumbled with buttons and zippers. Here there was no outside world, no darkness, just their bodies and the faint glow of candles and Christmas lights. Scully's mouth sought and found a nipple, ribs, navel, until with Elisabeth's hands tangled tight in her hair she paused. "Don't stop, please!" *No. Never.* Scully breathed deeply, learning the scent of Elisabeth's arousal, before dipping her head to taste. She felt Elisabeth's thighs tighten under her palms as she parted the soft curls with her tongue; she licked once, twice, and fingertips dug into her scalp. Salt and heat and unbelievable wetness surrounded her. Elisabeth tasted like the sea to Scully. She thrust her tongue hard against the pearl of Elisabeth's clit, again and again, and would gladly have drowned… "Dana!" Elisabeth lifted her hips frantically. Small moans slipped through her teeth. *Yes, lover, yes, like that.* Scully held her down, gentle, unrelenting. Her fingers slid deep and fast into Elisabeth, giving her that final push past the edge, and the younger woman arched her back and screamed. "Oh, God, Dana…" **** December 25, 1996 9 AM **** Scully drowsed. She was not exactly comfortable, but warm. Elisabeth's arms were around her. The headache was gone. She smiled, drifting in and out of the dream. They had fallen asleep on the couch again; that's why there was so little blanket, so little room. *Really have to work on making it into the bedroom, honey.* But it was Christmas morning, and this way they were only closer to the presents… Elisabeth stirred next to her. Scully opened her eyes. The room was too white, too bright. And someone was opening the front door. The lock didn't sound right. Someone was breaking in. Her hand shot out for the coffee table, for her clutch piece, and came up hard against the metal railing of her bed. An IV line yanked out and she managed to swallow the scream, but the sudden movement was enough to wake Elisabeth. She blinked, her eyes wide and bewildered, at the slowly opening door. "Merry Chris -" Bill Scully dropped the miniature fir tree he was carrying. It crashed to the floor in an explosion of clay pot, loam and shattered glass balls. Behind him, Maggie Scully's gloved hand flew to her mouth. Elisabeth would have moved away, or jumped away, or run all the way back to Dun Laoghaire, but Dana was holding to her for dear life.