TITLE: Breathing In Time (1/1)
AUTHOR: Zephathah
E-MAIL ADDRESS: zephathah@yahoo.com
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: VRA
KEYWORDS: M/S UST, friendship
SPOILERS: Monday (sort of); nothing, really
SUMMARY: Late one night, Mulder feels the need to check on Scully's
         breathing.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere (lemme know, tho?)
DISCLAIMER: No sirree, they don't belong to me.
FEEDBACK: Would make my day.  Send to zephathah@yahoo.com
NOTE: Many thanks to my beta reader and virtual guru, Shoshana.

Breathing In Time
by Zephathah

I wake abruptly from the nightmare, frantically gasping for breath.  
The sound is loud and harsh in the darkness.  My legs are tangled in 
the bedcovers, and I can feel sweat soaking into the pillow and 
mattress beneath my shirtless back.  I can't get enough air in my 
lungs; my hands clutch at the sheet as I gulp repeatedly.  My heart 
won't stop racing, and I can't seem to move any of my limbs.

Gradually I gain control of my body, and with a wrench I turn onto my 
side, curling up into a ball with my arms tight around my legs, head 
on my knees, still panting.  The flickering of the motel room TV makes 
no sense to my sweat-blurred eyes, so I close them.  But that doesn't 
bring relief, because now all I see are the images from my dream - 
Scully, dying, fighting for every breath.  And in the dream, we both 
know that her last breath will also be my own.

I squeeze my eyes closed tightly, wanting to banish the image but not 
willing to open my eyes to the world.  It doesn't work.  She's still 
there, and there's still nothing I can do about it.  I take a deep 
breath and try to exhale slowly, but I can't control it and the air 
leaves my lungs faster than it went in.  

I open my bleary eyes and focus on what happens to be in front of them 
- the clock on the table next to the bed.  I have to concentrate on 
getting my eyes to cooperate, and the effort helps calm my breathing 
and heart rate.  1:12am.  Not so late at all.  Early, even. 

But it's been a long day.  We didn't even bother with dinner after we 
finished for the day; we came straight back to the motel, went into 
our rooms with barely a word to one another, took care of evening 
ablutions, cracked the adjoining door in each room, and then fell into 
our respective beds.  No doubt Scully was still sleeping soundly, 
exhausted from the day's running around.

As usual, I wasn't so lucky.  Lately I've been trying to sleep like a 
'normal' person - wearing soft flannel pants to bed instead of 
sleeping in whatever I've been wearing that day, making the effort to 
actually sleep in a *bed*, as opposed to the couch, the floor, 
whatever piece of furniture happens to be handy...  But on the road I 
still fall asleep to the glow of the television, although at home I 
can get away without it.  Seems like the nightmares follow me on the 
road, too.

Calmer now, I uncurl and sit up, trying to sort out the sheets and 
blankets.  I shift to one side of the bed and flip over the pillow, so 
I'm not lying in the dampness of my own sweat.  I pull the sheet up to 
my chin, get comfortable on my pillow, and close my eyes, ready for 
sleep again.

The image is still there, waiting for me behind my eyelids.

I blink a few times, rub at my eyes with the palms of my hands, get 
the crusties out of the corners, and settle down once more.

Still there.

Now I'm getting annoyed.  I'm fully awake, I'm breathing fine, Scully 
is in the next room also breathing fine, there's nothing I need to 
worry about.  All I want is some sleep.

With a sigh, I grab the remote from the table, prop another pillow 
under my head, and start channel surfing.  Maybe I can find something 
to occupy my eyeballs while my brain shuts off.

But I can't find anything to waste my time on, and when I close my 
eyes again, I can still see Scully, struggling to breathe.  With a 
curse, I turn off the television and throw the remote onto the bed.  I 
sweep back the covers and stand up, stretching my tired muscles.  

I pad over to the door between our rooms and listen for a moment.  No 
sound from the other side.  That's no surprise; unless she's having 
one of her own nightmares, Scully's usually a quiet sleeper.  I pull 
open the door on my side a little further and poke my head through the 
door on her side.

The lamps and television are off, but light from a street lamp outside 
filters through the curtains, and I can see her form on the bed, 
sprawled on her stomach - and just as I suspected, she's sleeping 
deeply and peacefully, breathing evenly with nary a gasp.  I lean my 
head against the doorframe and check the scene behind my eyelids.  
Still there.

I cross to her bed, trying to be as quiet as I can.  No need for both 
of us to be awake when we'd rather be asleep.  When I reach her side, 
I kneel by the bed and watch her closely, trying to convince whatever 
part of my subconscious needs convincing that she's *fine*.  But when 
I close my eyes briefly, it's apparent that my subconscious isn't 
buying the story I'm selling.  

I lay my head on the mattress next to her pillow and put a gentle hand 
on her back.  I can feel the movement of her lungs, her ribs rising 
and falling with each breath.

I could spend all night like this, listening to my partner breathe.  
In and out, in and out.  The rhythm is soothing, and my eyelids start 
to feel heavy.    

Scully makes a little noise in her sleep, snuffling and snorting, 
settling deeper into the pillow, then turning her head so she faces 
the other way.

Hmmm, the view isn't half as nice, now.

I rise from where I've been kneeling next to the bed.  When my hand 
leaves her back, Scully makes a humming noise and wrinkles her 
forehead a little, but she doesn't wake.

Keeping an eye on her, I move around to the other side of the bed and 
pause to consider the situation.  Should I do this?  I don't think I'm 
going to get any more sleep tonight if I don't.  I ease onto the bed, 
transferring my weight slowly so as not to disturb her.  She's only 
using one of the pillows, so I commandeer the other and lie on my side 
next to her.  The bedspread is scratchy on my bare skin, but I think 
crawling under the covers would be going a little too far.

A lock of hair obscures her face, and carefully, oh so carefully, I 
stretch out my fingers and move the hair until it lies behind her ear.  
My hand trails down her shoulder and rests on her back again.  Still 
breathing.  

This time when I close my eyes, the only thing I can sense is the slow 
rise and fall as she breathes beneath my hand.  It anchors me, and I 
sink steadily into unconsciousness.

******

The next time I wake, it's a slow, gradual awareness.  Morning light 
is peeking through cracks in the curtains, and it takes me a moment to 
figure out why the window is on the wrong side of the room.  I'm still 
in my partner's bed, with my hand still monitoring each breath.  

There's been no unknowing movement in our sleep, no snuggling close or 
reaching for each other while our conscious minds were absent.  Just 
the constant contact of my hand to her back - well, her side now, 
because she turned over to face me at some point during the night.  
Her head is buried deeply in the pillow, and I can feel her breathing 
change as she rouses from sleep.

She's struggling toward wakefulness, and with a grunt she gets one eye 
to open.  It fixes on me and blinks a couple times.  

"Morning," she rasps, her voice still filled with sleep.

I give her a soft little smile and return the greeting.  "Morning, 
partner."

The one eye that's showing above the pillow roams around, taking in 
the sight of my arm in the space between our bodies.

"Something going on I should now about?" she queries, still not one 
hundred percent awake, but getting there.

I shrug slightly in response and focus on my hand where it lies on the 
silky softness of her pajama top.  My hand moves of its own volition, 
smoothing non-existent wrinkles in the fabric, pulling up the covers 
at her waist.  "Just wanted to make sure you were still breathing."

She considers me for a moment, then closes her eye and takes a deep 
breath, filling her lungs completely before letting it out between 
rounded lips.

Her eye pops open again.  "Yep, still going."

I smile at her, a big one this time.  "Good."

She's looking at me carefully, probably trying to decide whether or 
not there's really something wrong with me.  

Apparently she's concluded that I'm just being Mulder and there's no 
need for further alertness.  Her eye sinks closed again as she asks, 
"Time to get up yet?"

"Not yet."  I don't actually know what time it is, but whatever the 
day brings it can wait a few more hours.

"Mmph," she replies, and burrows back into the pillow.

A moment later she raises her head slightly and manages to get both 
eyes open.  I'm still watching her.  

"You cold?" she asks.

I shrug again.  

She digs out an arm from under her pillow and tugs at the covers 
beneath me.  I lift myself up and slip underneath them without losing 
contact with her.  She scoots her pillow closer to mine, and now my 
arm is all the way around her.  I pull her closer and we shift around 
until we're both comfortable, me mostly on my back, her head now 
pillowed on my bare shoulder.  She snakes her arm under mine as she 
noses my collarbone drowsily.  

Within seconds, she's asleep again.  I take a moment to lay my cheek 
against her hair and allow myself to be content with her closeness.  I 
can feel her throughout my whole body now, each time she breathes in 
and breathes out.  

I close my eyes one more time and fall asleep to the rhythm of our 
bodies.

fin


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