Obligation By Anna Otto annaotto1@aol.com http://www.geocities.com/~annaotto Rating: NC-17 Classification: SRA Archive: Only by permission Disclaimer: Jack belongs to Rachel and me, everyone else is not mine. Summary: A few months after the events of The Second Ones, Scully decides to look up a friend she couldn't forget. Thanks: To Rachel for inventing Jack. Now I feel much better. Please note that this is not the ending to The Second Ones. It is just... an alternate universe incident. "And watching lovers part, I feel you smiling, What glass splinters lie so deep in your mind? To tear out from your eyes, with a word to stiffen brooding lies, But I'll only watch you leave me further behind." Duran Duran, 'The Chauffeur' Scully thrust several bills at the chauffeur and, before he could reach into his pocket for change, opened the door. One step - and her feet stood on the ground of Paris, France. She was tempted to reach out and touch the walls of the buildings, to speak with someone in the language that she could barely remember from a few high school classes. She was traveling lightly, one small shoulder bag holding all of her necessities, everything that she'd need to use for just one night. One night, Scully repeated fervently. The agitated chirp of the crowded street, the paintings of a young artist laid out on the ground, the smell of freshly baked bread coming from a bakery nearby didn't have an effect on her at all. She wouldn't have the time to explore the city, or to sample its everyday life. She was here to fulfill an obligation. It was what she told herself when she hurriedly bought the ticket with cash. It was the one thought churning inside her head when she couldn't fall asleep on a seemingly interminable flight from D.C. to Paris. Her fingers reached inside her jeans pocket, pulling out an innocuous business card that spent several months lying in her drawer, her eyes accosting it every day until she had no choice but to tear it up into pieces or... She could lie to Mulder and tell him that this weekend, she was taking some time for herself. He could accept her explanation respectfully, letting her have the privacy that she needed. She could quickly fly to Paris and fulfill an obligation that weighed heavily on her shoulders, all the while feeling guilt for betraying a man whom she held most dear. She could stand on the threshold of another man's home, shivering either from the cool breeze or from the unbearable tension inside of her. There was no response, and Scully rapped her knuckles on the dark wood again. Easy - it was too damn easy: to lie to Mulder, to come here, to expect Jack to be home, and to avoid rational thought at all costs. The key to all this madness lay simply in not understanding it. The bag fell from Scully's shoulder on the steps like a stone. She sat down beside it, her cool hands cupping her burning cheeks. What was Jack doing at this moment? Deceiving, inveigling, obfuscating, should she take her pick? Could she deceive herself just as easily as to the nature of his work? Or should she think of him as Eric? Her teeth chattered slightly, and she wrapped the jacket tighter around her. Scully told herself to move, to at least walk a few blocks down the street and get a cup of hot coffee. After that, the wisest move would be to take a cab to the Eiffel Tower, look at the city that never slept for the all too brief a time, and then catch a ride back to the airport. She could walk inside the Hoover building and down to the basement with a sure step, an honest demeanor, and tell Mulder a hilarious story about her one-legged trip to Paris. He could laugh and maybe think she was trying to get away to any place at all where the cell phone wouldn't reach her. They could continue their work in comfortable companionship, as they always did. Just a few hours, and Paris would be but a dim memory as she flew over the city, turning toward the Atlantic ocean. "Agent Scully...Dana...it's..." The strong arms that enveloped her, the breathless voice that laughed in her ear, full of happy disbelief, were too much of a surprise to resist them. And it was a good surprise. Her arms were reaching to wrap around his back, and her eyes were suddenly prickly with unshed tears. God, she'd missed him. "You came." He disentangled himself from the embrace, but still held her by the shoulders, green eyes drinking in the sight before him. Just an obligation, her mind repeated vaguely. Just one night, she only had one weekend, she had to go back to work on Monday... He held the door open, waiting for her to enter. Scully thought that he bowed minutely, as if she were royalty, as she passed over the threshold. The room that she stepped in was finished in light colors, outfitted with the bare minimum of furniture that was more functional rather than beautiful. It was a distinctly masculine room, lacking the woman's touch, but she felt that she could lose herself in its refreshing simplicity. "I come here to relax," Jack explained as she looked around. "Dealing with antiques can be..." he searched for a word and faltered on it, "...oppressing." She turned to face him, focusing on his face sharply. "Is that all you do? Sell antiques?" "No," he replied in stride. "But you already know that, don't you?" Scully nodded, her shoulders drooping, as she realized that she was hoping against all hope for a different answer. "I don't want to think about it," she said resolutely. His fingers touched hers, sending a delicious jolt down her nerve endings, and she closed her mind to all doubts and rational sense. It was more than an obligation - it was right. It was what this man deserved, what he'd taken a bullet for, what he'd almost died for - it was a happy ending that he needed. That she needed for him. "Can I invite you to dinner?" he whispered, avoiding her eyes and she wondered if it were from shame or from fear of rejection. "Or perhaps for a tour of the city?" "No," she replied quickly, regretting her abrupt tone at the twitch in his fingers. "It's not what I meant," she hastened to reassure him. "I just want to stay here. To be with you." Jack's eyes were studying her suddenly with more than desire, more than love. He looked at her as a drowning man might look at his savior. She found it difficult to draw in a breath, and she told herself that what she felt was pity, and just a touch of fear. It was for him, she repeated. Only for him, and no one deserved it or needed it more. Slowly, she took off her jacket. The buttons on her sweater were too numerous, and she wished that she wore a T-shirt, easy to strip off, easy to rip off. No regrets and never, ever, would she look behind. He watched her, concentrating intently on her every move, not offering his help, not taking any steps to remove his own clothes. He seemed to be memorizing her every curve, every inch of her skin, taking his time to marvel at the woman standing before him. She longed for him to take initiative, to take what he wanted quickly, so that she could fall asleep on his bed afterward. She wanted him to sate his desire, to drown in her for just this one night, as many times as it took, so that she could slip out of the house unnoticed in the early morning. She wanted him to destroy all the rationalism that held her a prisoner within her mind, to dry up the cesspool of betrayal that she was voluntarily sinking into. It would be easy to leave here - this room in which he didn't really live. It would be easy to say goodbye to Paris - the city she never really visited. It would be so easy to look in Mulder's eyes without shame - the man she never really betrayed. "Dana," Jack's rough voice caressed her name lovingly, as if finally believing in her presence. "I've waited for so long," he ran his fingers over her torso, kissing the valley between her breasts. "So long," he moaned as he bowed to claim a kiss from her lips. Scully ran a hand through his hair, encouraging him to proceed, to take more of what she had to give. Her bare skin pressed into the length of his still-clad body, and she reached for the buckle of his belt, for the folds of his shirt, for any piece of clothing that she could remove, as quickly as possible. He aided her, swiftly discarding the remaining articles, kissing her with a fervor of a religious fanatic who'd found his deity. Her hands ran down his chest, encountering a recently healed scar. She kissed it delicately, denying the notion that it destroyed his beauty, denying the notion that he could have easily died from this wound, proceeding to kiss his stomach, cupping his erection appreciatively. Jack moaned, bereft of speech, bucking into her hand and trying to restrain himself. "Bed," Scully ordered him. "Now." She lay down on the dark sheets, throwing her head back, just enough to watch his face as he entered her, carefully and swiftly. His eyes begged her for something that she couldn't quite fathom, and she ignored the question inside of them, reaching instead for his generous mouth to draw another kiss from the lips that invoked her name with such passion. She rode on the ripples of ecstasy, on sheer feeling devoid of pain or anguish, forgetting about the guilt and obligations for just these few moments. She didn't want to classify them as happiness. She couldn't quite stomach the scientific terms to describe the orgasm that swallowed her whole like a gentle wave of the ocean and released her just as gently, to the arms of the man whom she still didn't know. Scully held him tightly, brushing the black hair off his forehead and thinking that blond fitted him better. He turned over a bit, pillowing his face on her stomach. "I'm so happy that you came to stay. Tomorrow morning, we will have breakfast in bed," he informed her gaily. "I always wanted to have breakfast in bed and I never had a good occasion for it. And then... what do you want to do?" She smiled, permitting herself the indulgence of sharing this dream. "Then we will walk along the streets of old Paris to the Eiffel Tower, and take an elevator to the top," she replied. "We will watch the city as much as we like and maybe have lunch up there. And then we will walk back and maybe find an old bookstore with French books which names I won't be even able to read..." she paused to let him laugh for a few moments, then continued. "And then we will walk back to your place, streetlights paving our way, the night giving the city more life than the day ever did..." "And then we will come inside, and I will be able to touch you again," he murmured. "And kiss you here..." he proceeded to give her a demonstration. "And here..." he moved down slightly, "and here..." Scully made a small sound, not quite a moan, not quite a whimper. His eyes watched her intently. "You're crying," he stated quietly. "Again." She shook her head, unable to define what it was that prompted her tears. "I'm just tired, that's all." Jack moved, settling to the side of her. "Then sleep. Tomorrow is another day." She turned to face him, throwing her arm around his shoulders, burrowing inside of his embrace. "I missed you," she whispered. "You were my only point of sanity back then." He smoothed her hair tenderly. "You were my pillar of strength," he echoed softly. "I'd never met anyone quite like you, Agent Scully," his voice smiled. "Dana." She fell asleep quickly, while his fingers drew lazy circles on her skin. * * * Scully woke up abruptly, when it was still dark outside. She was wrapped inside the satin sheet, and she couldn't recall even vaguely when Jack covered her up to hide her from the chill of the night. He slept beside her, and she watched his face for a few moments, memorizing its hard lines and few wrinkles. He frowned at something in his dream, and then, just as quickly, his forehead smoothed out, whatever was troubling him now far away from his conscience. She collected the clothes, feeling her way in the dark, and made a quick trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth and dress. Glancing in the mirror, she watched the cool and collected woman gazing confidently back at her, and she didn't recognize herself. Soundlessly, she picked up her bag and walked out of the house, finding the street deserted now, save for the newspaper stand that seemed to operate twenty-four hours a day. She walked by, picking up some medical journal in English and handing the correct change to the vendor. "Merci," he touched his hat. She heard him shout something to her as she walked away, and she tried to imagine it was a wish for a good day. But it seemed to her that every house that she passed by, every man she encountered, every star in the sky begged her to reconsider, to return to the address which she was trying very hard to forget. She couldn't find her way back. She wouldn't want to try. The night that she spent here in the arms of a dark-haired man whose real name was perhaps a mystery even to him, that night when she forgot herself, was only an obligation. She could almost feel the heavy weight lifting from her shoulders, but the expected lightness didn't come. A cab pulled over to the curb and the chauffeur waved at her merrily, telling her something she didn't understand. "I don't speak French," she replied, shrugging. "American?" the man didn't skip a beat. "Where to? Paris awaits..." "To the airport," she handed him her bag. "I have a flight to catch." "Well, Paris isn't going anywhere," he told her sincerely, as if he was handing her a consolation prize. "No," she said, settling deep in the cushions. When would Jack wake up? Would he smile and reach out his hand, expecting it to brush against the female body next to him? Would he frown upon not finding her? Would he curl inside the sheet that she left, digging his face inside the pillow on which she slept, inhaling her perfume? "Did you enjoy your stay in Paris, ma'am?" the cabbie winked at her in the rearview mirror. "I hope the city treated you well." Scully shook herself from the reverie. "Yes, it was wonderful," she replied insincerely. It seemed to shut him up for a few minutes. She closed her eyes and let herself remember the man she left sleeping on the dark satin sheets, telling herself that what she gave him would be enough, that the joy in his face upon seeing her was only fleeting, that the question in his eyes could never shape into, "Have you come to stay forever?" She knew that it was time to forget the days that she spent in California, the days when she could gain another breath just from looking into his eyes, then gray as the skies about to snow. Another man, one who would call her this evening and ask her innocently how she spent her weekend, was waiting for her on another continent. Jack would survive her absence. Mulder wouldn't. She knew that she made the right choice. The End.