Let it Fly
fic: light as clouds
the last of the fic prompts! I have to admit, I got a bit creative with this one. And I wanted to hold it back, because as it turns out, this fits perfectly into a long fic I'm writing, so let's just call this "WIP Wednesday" or a fic teaser or "Thursday feels bad about holding back a prompt fill." I will not put it on AO3 yet because there will be a lot more. The fic that this will be a part of currently has the working title "one word, nine letters" and is a post-cancer fic in which they are in an established relationship. this is part of one chapter probably close to the beginning.
tagging @today-in-fic
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“Just follow me,” she says, and takes his hand.
“Where are we going?” She’s leading him down a winding path at sunset on a cold late evening and as much as he trusts her, he wants to know that she has a reason.
“To the beach,” she says simply. “You’ll see.”
She has been working hard on getting better, on regaining her strength, but he still worries: that she’s pushing herself too hard, that it’s too much for her, that her eyes will look tired again and her legs won’t be able to carry her. He knows she doesn’t want to hear that. She just wants to forget.
Forgetting is the one thing he can’t do.
The light is sunset-soft under a wide expanse of gray-blue sky. It’s beautiful out here, quiet except for the rushing of the waves and the heavy wind, the crisp sea air erasing lingering traces of hospital smell and despair from their minds. A long weekend away was a good idea, he thinks – they both need to stay still for a while, remember how to breathe.
There is a smile on her face as she sighs deeply and looks off into the distance. He looks at her. There is color in her cheeks again, and not just from the cold.
“So, what are we doing here?” he asks. Because somehow he doesn’t think they just came down here for the view.
“Melissa and I used to do this thing,” she says, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. “When things were difficult, when her boyfriend dumped her, or when I was freaking out about telling our parents about joining the FBI. It was her idea. I don’t even know when it started.” Her smile is wistful, her eyes sad, and he loves her so much he can’t stand it sometimes. “We’d climb up onto the roof, or find a hill, or go to the beach, depending on where we were at the time. We took leaves, or feathers, or whatever we had, told them our deepest worries, and let the wind blow them away.”
“That sounds nice,” he says. “Did it work?”
“It was a nice ritual,” she answers. “It eased the pain for the moment.”
“Is that why you wanted to go out this late? Because you need to let go of something?”
Her eyes are so serious as they meet his. “No, Mulder,” she says. “We’re here because you do.”
He swallows. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Her hand squeezes his fingers, her gaze holding his. “You’ve been so sad lately. And -” She shrugs. “I know it’s childish. But I thought maybe – you know. At least acknowledging it – whatever it is – maybe it would help.”
There is one thing, he thinks. Among many. One thing sitting on his chest heavier than all the water in the sea, and it would take a hurricane to wash him onto shore along with the driftwood. But she wants to share something with him and they came so close to losing it all. He’ll take anything she offers. He’s so happy to still have the chance. “What do I have to do?”
She lets go of his hand to pull a feather from her pocket, a single white feather. “I found this earlier. That’s what gave me the idea.”
He takes it and examines it carefully. Such a tiny thing. It will never be able to hold the weight of the ocean. But she’s asking him to believe that it can. “Do I have to say it out loud?”
“No,” she says. “Just think it. Really hard. And then let it go.”
For a short moment, he makes himself believe that it will work. That he can go back to before, to a time where he didn’t know what it feels like to watch the love of your life dying right before your eyes. “Okay,” he says, closes his fist around the tiny feather and squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts. It will always hurt. But it’s the pain of a memory. They will make new memories now.
He opens his eyes, then opens his fist, holds out his hand into the wind. Watches as the feather is caught by a gust, upwards and away, floating on invisible currents.
Next to him, Scully is solid and real, alive, looking at him like she loves him. “What did you tell it?” she asks, and then adds, “You don’t have to tell me.”
He can’t say it. Not right now. He gave the words to the wind, to the sky, to the open air under rugged clouds that are starting to turn red with the beginning of sunset. Maybe they can come down here tomorrow morning, to watch the sun climb its way back up over the edge of the world. Now that they no longer have to worry about every sunrise being her last.
So he doesn’t speak, instead lifts a hand and gently touches his fingers to the back of her neck, to where he can feel the raised skin of her scar, the evidence of the small miracle that let her survive, that gave her back to him.
“Mulder,” she whispers, and he lets the sound of his name from her lips wash over him; no one else has ever said his name like this. He doesn’t want to hear it this way from anyone else.
He brushes her hair away from her face and answers her smile with one of his own, and as he leans down for a kiss, her breath is warm, so warm against his lips.
He can’t say it. Not right now. He gave the words to the wind, to the sky, to the open air under rugged clouds that are starting to turn red with the beginning of sunset.
Just going to leave this here while I pitch myself off a cliff.
