Mara Trinity Scully > Green/Brown


Hey, you, I love your soul. ~Skillet

Green eyes meet brown and it suddenly felt for both that the world stopped a beat.

His mouth gaped open and her head tilted. The pounding music, the sound of people shrieking in the kitchen as they took their next shot of cheap vodka, the voices of drunken and sexually frustrated people dissipated into nothing. He could hear his heart beating, she could hear the sound of her breathing in and outóboth frequencies increasing as time began to move achingly slow as they continued to stare at each other from across the room.

Later, he believed that they would have willingly stared at each other the entire night if it wasnít for the strangest interruption. Another woman fell into his lap, laughing hysterically. As she realized where she was, she reached up to grab his face and pull him down to hers. He firmly, yet gently, removed her hands and helped her up. She clung to him wildly, hands everywhere. Water, he thought, she needs water, and he carefully walked her to the kitchen.

The green eyes watching him felt wounded to see another woman in the arms of the man she had just discovered. She watched the kitchen door steadily for his return. After a moment, he appeared, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair tussled. She smiled. He sensed the smile, remembered her eyes and sought her out. Not knowing fully why, she turned quickly and went to the open door of the apartment to leave. Hoping he would follow.

He did.

Outside, the sky was dark, peaceful. It was quiet. A voice stopped her movement. Hello, he said. Do I know you? I know this sounds strange, but I feel like I do.

She faced him, her eyes flashing, Is that your best pick up line?

He blushed, no. Iím not trying anything here, Iím just wanting to talk. You remind me of someone, maybe.

She looked him over, he knew he was being measured by her intense gaze. You were brilliant in the performance, ThomasÖis it?

He blushed deeper. Yes, Iím Thomas Anderson. But call me Tom.

She opened her mouth and said Tom, voiceless. Suddenly she felt the world turn on fire, blazing through her veins.

He smiled, she loved his smile and the depth of his eyes, and asked, and you? What is your name, princess?

She raised her eyebrows. Princess?

He smirked.

She continued to look at him straight in the eyes. Iím Lillian.

He nodded, seeming to understand her entire essence in the name. Lillian, he repeated. You donít look like a Lillian.

She nodded. Iíve heard that before.

He took a step back, I donít mean toÖ

She took a step forward, no no. Itís okay. What name would you call me?

He looked her straight in the eyes for what felt like a beat too long. The Holy Spirit.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, guarding away his probe, a religious name, Tom? You see me as the Holy Spirit?

He smiled, not ashamed of what he said. You are a person who fills a person. Love, faith, trust.

She looked at him sharply, pop psychology?

He opened his mouth to defend himself and then, the angel in gray, shook his head. It doesnít matter.

The wind picked up, it was lukewarm, dry. Leaves rattled down the street, the smell of cigarettes and marijuana lessened. It felt like a moment to the two future heroes, future lovers. A moment they would remember, looking at each other and knowing that there was an all powerful force moving them into each otherís arms, persuading them to throw caution, normalcy to the blowing wind, to quietly kiss each other and feel the ache ripple through that intimate touch. It wasnít the time. It wasnít precisely right. But it was something to hold on to. Something to remember.

Tom pulled away, troubled. Intoxicated, Lillian opened her eyes and found herself fascinated by the curve of his eyelashes. Beautiful. I could grow use to that every day, every minute, every hour and every second, they thought. I could love her. I could love him.

But notÖnow.

She smiled. He returned the smile.

The world began to turn again.

End of Transmission

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