Comfort
By Shoshana

She had slipped under the covers of the bed and made herself comfortable, moving to one side intentionally. She was inviting him into his own bed, so sincerely, so unabashedly, he knew he had to decline.

He was determined not to take advantage of the situation. He saw no possible benefit in it. He would not use this incident to bring them together physically.

In his own mind, he had always welcomed that possibility. But not now, not like this. Her vulnerability, her need for comfort, had opened her up, allowed her to speak her true feelings about what had been done.

It was still unjustifiable homicide to her. No matter how he couched his arguments, she still felt that her God had taken no part in this act of vengeance. Not the God she had grown up with, not the one she felt she knew.

The song, the clues along the way, how could they be from a benevolent entity, how could they lead her to murder? Someone, something had used her, forced her to act contrary to her better nature.

Some primitive defense mechanism had overwhelmed her normally rational restraint. Her disciplined, brilliant mind was out of control, possessed, yes, possessed, by some evil beyond her ken.

He disagreed. He'd told her as much, trying any which way he could to express his dissension. Through words, through tone of voice, through the empathy in his eyes as he stated his case.

They'd agreed to disagree, as they so often did. She'd excused herself to change for bed. He'd sat on the couch, listening to her bedtime routine, so familiar to him now, so precious to his ears.

He was happy she'd consented to stay here with him. He wanted her close tonight. He wanted to be there if she had any nightmares. He wanted to be the one to comfort her, stroke her temples, mutter nonsense in her ear, lull her back to sleep.

He wanted that, but he didn't want more than that. Sex was not a solution. It would just be a diversion. A method of escape from the weight of her burden. He would stay with her, he would talk to her, all night, if necessary. But under no circumstances would he allow his baser instincts to guide him.

She was exhausted, and she yawned, pushing her head back against the pillow. Tentatively, her hand ventured to the empty side of the bed, beckoning him to her side.

He shook his head, a regretful smile communicating how much he'd like to, how much he wanted to be with her someday. But everything that he was, everything that they were, screamed restraint tonight. There would be time for them later on, time when their coupling would be free from the taint of Donnie Pfaster.

She smiled groggily, noting his refusal, blinking her eyes wearily. She pulled the bedcovers over her, then scooted closer to the edge of the bed where he still stood, watching her every move.

"Stay awhile, would ya?" she murmured, barely above a whisper.

He nodded affirmatively, then broke into a warmhearted grin that conveyed all the love he felt for her at that moment.

He sat down beside her on the bed, momentarily startled when she moved closer, claiming his hands, grasping them tightly within her own.

He squeezed back affectionately, then brought one hand to his lips, gently kissing her fingers. She closed her eyes as he did so, and he lowered her hand to his side, caressing it with his thumb.

"Sleep, Scully. I'll be right here, I'm not leaving you tonight," he said softly, his voice raspy from their protracted conversation.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then stroked her brow tenderly, encouraging sleep.

She turned toward him, tucking one arm under the blanket, but refusing to relinquish his other hand.

He continued to soothe it with his own, watching her fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

He watched, he waited, he wanted to crystallize this moment in his mind forever. The comfort he gave her, the modest offering of a man in love, was returned tenfold by this, this implicit trust that he would stay by her side.

He couldn't protect her constantly, even if he wanted to. But tonight he could be here, he could shield her from whatever horrifying dreams may come.

An hour passed, and his head felt heavy with exhaustion. With his last ounce of wakeful energy, he stretched beside her on the coverlet, their hands still entwined.

fin

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