"On My Knees"
by Marie Endres joemimi@prodigy.net

Classification: A Scully Angst Fest! With a bit 
of MSR/Smut as a chaser! As well as appearances 
by Doggett and Skinner!

Rating: As strong of an "R" as possible- sexual 
situations and a bad word.

Spoilers: Set immediately after "TINH"

Summary: Scully on her knees, with each of the 
men in her life. Get your mind out of the 
gutter. Well, maybe it can stay there a little 
while.


"On My Knees"

Rough. Scratching. Gnawing its way through 
fabric to skin, the wood beneath my knees seems 
alive and ready to devour me, consume me. If 
only it would.

The beast of wood would rise up and swallow me 
whole if there was any justice in this world. I 
would be chewed up and spit out by the flooring 
that held the chair that recently contained the 
seated form of one who was my last hope- a 
surreal version of the old lady who swallowed a 
fly. But as I should have learned long ago, 
there is not one iota of justice in this world.

And so I am here, ready to uncoil and take on 
Heaven or Hell and its respective minions, to 
change what is not happening. Sour anger burns 
within me, a corrosive destroying only the 
container in which it is held. My rage cannot
reach those who have caused this pit that is 
forming where my soul once resided. Instead, it 
tears and chews through me.

I hear the tentative footsteps of the one who 
is so careful around me, my assigned partner. 
How I can, I do not know. The roaring and 
buzzing of blood in my veins has created a 
static hum, but yet, his footfall intrudes. 
Someone get me a cup of water.

He, wisely, doesn't speak. What could he say? 
I'm sorry. I know I said I would find him. I 
never did say how. 

Specificity! God, why didn't I remind him about 
that little fact? Why did I have to specify 
that I wanted to find Mulder ALIVE? This is 
like some sick joke. Where is the punch line? 
When is someone going to wake me up?

My arms have dropped to my sides; perhaps he 
thinks it's OK to move closer to me. He's 
wrong, so wrong. My arms are still shaking. 
Watch out, partner, they could strike out of 
their own volition at any time.

"Agent Scully," he begins.

My head drops forward. Words, where are they? I 
begin to shake my head in warning to him. He 
doesn't take the hint.

He takes another step closer to me. "Don't," I 
hiss out. I must not be loud enough, because he 
does that damn stepping nearer to me thing 
again.



My knees have become intimate lovers with the 
hardness beneath them, rubbing, grinding, 
thrusting into the solidity, hoping to be 
steadied. Yet, there is no release, no climax 
of ecstasy for them. No, there is just pain, 
just the certainty of being fucked by fate.

My anger swells and spills out of me, heaving 
breaths spitting the word "NO!" over and over 
again in a desperate litany to change what is.

Doggett cannot change it with his strong hands 
that fall upon my shoulders. They are a 
horrible weight pushing me even further into a 
sick communion with the floorboards beneath my 
bones.

"Agent Scully," he whispers, afraid, I think, 
of what I may do in response to his voice. 
Good, you should be afraid. The world should be 
afraid. 

My hands fly up to throw his off of me, but he 
captures mine, both, and I struggle once again 
out of his grasp. Still holding my wrists, he 
comes around in front of me, kneeling down to 
be with me on that damn floor.

"Let me go!!" I scream.

"No," he says in a harsh whisper.

Great, now I don't have to only fight God and 
alien life forms. I have John Doggett to force 
from my life, too. 

With what little mobility I have in my hands, I 
begin to beat on him, my captor. He lets go of 
my hands. Idiot. I begin my full-on assault of 
him, his chest, his shoulders that are at my 
eye level. He embodies for me every single bit 
of evil that has led me to this moment, 
everything that I can't get my hands on now. 

He kneels there and accepts very blow, his 
fingers curling over his knees, until, finally 
he brings his arms up and around me. He 
encircles my blow-delivering self, closing the 
distance between us, until his mouth is next to 
my ear.

With a calm, strength-filled tone, he tries to 
make me hear him over my own screams and sobs. 
Through an adrenaline haze, I can begin to make 
out words: "Agent Scully," 

"Please stop,"

" You have to stop."

And finally, "Your baby, Agent Scully. Please 
think of the baby!" he says in the most 
commanding whisper I think a man has ever 
uttered.

I drop my hands, and myself into a crumpled 
heap in his arms. My sobs turn to the most 
quiet of tears that are afraid to admit their 
existence.  He tightens his embrace and then 
swiftly changing angles. His one arm squeezes 
around my shoulder while the other goes under 
my knees and I am lifted up, held tightly to 
him, a good soldier who did not shrink in the 
face of my attack. I am removed from my knees 
to face the rest of what is left of my life.


~ * ~

I am set adrift, trying not to touch down for 
fear of reaching the earth, the place of my 
pain. I lay awake in the darkness, no light to 
illumine the terror of here and now. My body is 
atop the blankets, nothing to cuddle or soothe 
me because nothing ever will. Only my memories 
quiet my cries.

"Woman, on your knees!" Mulder said with a soft 
chuckle as he gathered me to him seemingly long 
ago.

We had been lovers for such a short time. We 
tested the ground rules every time we put aside 
our fears in favor of our desire. It was in the 
early days our newfound intimacy that I saw him 
for once tentative, hesitant about anything. He 
touched me with reverence and discovery. He 
would ask me in a voice ragged with need, "Like 
this?" and "Show me how." That is why his 
joking request, delivered in a tone reminiscent 
of playing house, jolted me from my aroused 
journey that took me beyond time and place.

I raised my head from his chest, releasing his 
beautifully hard nipple from between my gently 
teasing teeth. I looked up into his eyes with a 
smile upon my lips. His gaze met mine as his 
hands dropped from my back, allowing me to move 
ever-so-slightly away from him to the edge of 
the mattress. He moved his head in the smallest 
of negative responses, trying to let me know 
that he wasn't serious. But I was.

My feet touched the floor first; my eyes never 
left his as I lowered myself beside the bed to 
my knees. I held out my hands to him and 
beckoned him to sit on the edge. Once more, he 
looked at me with a tentative plea. I know what 
he was wondering. Did I really want to be in 
this position, below him, pleasuring him, 
submitting to him? Did I want to take him, with 
all of my vulnerability exposed, into my mouth, 
my very self? Would I allow him to be in 
control, to take from me that right of equality 
for which I had fought? Could I be on my knees 
before him and still be me?

There is freedom in surrender; there is joy in 
giving unselfishly, a joy I was just beginning 
to understand through this love that we were 
creating. He didn't realize that the surrender 
was his also. When he let me love him, he gave  
back the very thing he feared taking from me. 
And so I lowered my head, my mouth around him 
as my hands were splayed across his strong 
thighs. Immediately, I heard him take in a 
sharp breath, only releasing it as I moved 
upward from base to tip. His hands, first on 
the bed, moved to my shoulders where he gripped 
me tightly.

"God, Scully. That's so good," he choked out in 
little breaths. Again and again, I raised and 
lowered my mouth, increasing the pressure each 
time, bringing him closer to release with every 
pass. I took one of my hands from his legs to 
cup his tender scrotum.

He gently stroked my face, trying to get me to 
look up at him. "Scully?" he asked

I released him, warm and wet from my mouth, 
into a delicate caress from the joining of both 
my hands. "Yes?" I said as much a question as 
an assent.

"I'm thinking that Old Faithful will no longer 
be just an Out West phenomena soon, you know. 
It's OK if you don't want to, well, I could get 
some tissues when. . ." his shaky voice trailed 
off in almost adolescent embarrassment.

"No, Mulder. Never," I declared as I resumed my 
loving assault on him.

And so I took him, all of him and every last, 
little bit of his life-giving self within me 
that night on my knees. I surrendered myself, 
my control, and my needs to enjoy all of his.  
I never regretted one second of that night or 
the seven years that preceded it or any moment 
after it. Except for now, when I would give 
anything to go back, to that room, that night, 
to again be on my knees, unashamed and 
powerful.

* ~ *


A knock crashes through my perceptions. It 
seems so distant, so foreign in this place of 
utter isolation. Could there possibly be anyone 
else here? Anyone who could be an occupant with 
me on this isle so crowded with my own grief? I 
didn't think I left any room for another to be 
here with me.

I rise from where I had been trying to still 
myself and take carefully slow steps toward the 
door. Not even thinking about any sort of 
threat, what more could mortal men do to me, I 
open it without checking. There stands the only 
one who could even begin to broach the ford 
across this lonely river. He stands tall, but 
fear and grief have begun to dwarf him. He 
stands strong, but his strength has been turned 
to frailty by coming too close to me. Skinner 
stands in my doorway and reaches out his hand 
to me.

I take it as he says, "Can you come outside 
with me?"

I cannot find any reason why I cannot, yet I 
fear even moving from this place. Letting go of 
a place that I just was moves me further into 
the future, away from a past with Mulder. When 
I hesitate, he asks if he can come in then.

I back away from the door and he enters. He 
immediately turns on a light. I am too 
exhausted to stop him and I squint into the 
fierce brightness.

"I needed to see how you were," he says 
quietly.

I nod. He looks away from me, and placing his 
hands on his hips, begins to speak: " When I 
was In Country, I saw so many things I never 
wanted to remember, but yet my mind played them 
over and over. There was no way I could escape 
the memories of watching a guy blown apart, a 
guy with whom I had just shared a beer the 
night before. There was only one thing that 
could stop me from re-living every ugly 
moment."

He swallows hard, trying to find a way to keep 
sharing this with me.

"I don't want you, Dana, to keep replaying the 
ending of Mulder's life. There's so much more 
for you to remember than just those moments. 
Tonight, I need to do something I haven't done 
for so long. Something, I hope you'll share 
with me, for it was the only thing I found that 
would take away the sounds of fear and death 
that haunted me."

He walks toward me and again takes my hands. As 
he does, he begins to lower himself to his 
knees. I join him there, carpet cradling and 
soft, in that sad and removed place and begin 
to speak aloud the words that I can see his 
mouth forming, his voice so quietly whispering.

While I doubt, I know in my soul that they are 
words with power, words that will lift me from 
the hopelessness of this dark place. They will 
lift me beyond the helplessness and 
supplication of being on my knees. They are 
timeless; they are a key to finding the lasting 
peace I know I will need to sustain in me in 
the seconds which will turn into years to come. 

And so we begin to speak the words a little 
more strongly as two who will share the depth 
of loss, two who will make it through the rest 
of our lives, on our knees:

 " Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed  
be Thy Name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be 
done, on earth as it is in Heaven. . ."

END

Feedback: I'm on my knees, begging: 
joemimi@prodigy.net


Thank you's as always to the dearest, Georgia.
Thank you for teaching me why I write, even 
before I read the book.