Title: Repressed 1/3
Author: Jori Remington
Category: SA
Keywords: MS Something
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes
Spoilers: Little Green Men, The Host, One Breath, Tempus Fugit
E-Mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Dislaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013, and Fox
Summary: Scully confronts Mulder with some unexpected memories she has
repressed for years. Gifts are explained and relationships twist and
turn.
Author's notes: Thanks go out to both Rachel and Michele for beta
reading this for me. Also, a big thanks goes out to Rachel, who's comes
up with these crazy M&S relationship ideas that I just have to write
out!

**********************************

December 1998

I can barely catch my breath as the elevator slowly ascends to the
fourth floor. I can't believe this is happening. I just cannot believe
that after all this time he never said a damn word. For four and a half
years Mulder has known and remained silent, his memories still perfectly
intact. Mine apparently were damaged more than I thought. I believed I
didn't remember anything *after* Duane Barry kidnapped me until I woke
up again in that hospital room. I guess there were some holes in my
memory from before my abduction and Mulder never fucking bothered to
clue me in.

Breathe, Dana, I keep telling myself over and over. Just remember to
keep breathing through this. *This* isn't that bad. Right. For all that
time I have been kept in the dark. He never once said a damn thing. Did
he think it was normal to forget such a thing as that? Perhaps he was
glad I forgot, forever letting him off the hook. A tiny part of me feels
violated in some way, but I push that feeling back. I will deal with
that later.

I look down at the box in my hand again. It is what started all of this,
and it is what brought back the memories. I found it this morning, while
cleaning out a carton full of old papers. I have held this package
before, but it never had this effect on me. All of a sudden, a tangle of
memories flooded over me, making their way from the deepest recesses of
my mind. These memories couldn't possibly be mine, could they? Memories
built of entwined legs and arms and mouths and souls. There is no way
these memories could be real. No way.

The elevator doors slide open and I step out. I can still turn back. I
can still step into the elevator and continue living like I never knew,
or I can continue down this hall and face him. I have faced Mulder
nearly every day for years now. I have faced him after he admitted to
other things he *neglected* to tell me. Why should this change anything?
Hell, it *just* does. I hear the doors finally slide shut behind me,
leaving me one less option. I can still push the button, ride it down,
get in my car and just go home. Or I can go face the truth. The truth he
has hidden from me for years now.

I take slow, deliberate steps to Mulder's door, still inventing and
reinventing my exact game plan in my head. How do I ask these questions?
How do I admit that I forgot *this.* What if I there wasn't anything to
forget, and my mind is playing tricks on me? I do not want to humiliate
myself any more than I might possibly already be. I have spent the day
deliberating about how I should confront him with my new found
information, playing out multiple scenarios in my mind. I wanted to be
calm and collected when I finally see him face to face, but I am
beginning to find that calmness hard to hold on to.

I'm in front of his door, and still undecided. I can still leave.
Something in my brain cries for me to just walk away. Pretend it never
happened. Come on, you can do it. You can walk away.

Something else is telling me to find the truth. It is always the damned
truth. The ever elusive search for it always wins out.

I knock hard under the number forty-two, hoping I find all my answers
here. My fingers are clenched around the package in my other hand, for
it is my evidence. Actually, it is the only evidence I've got. There is
nothing else from the last four and a half years that even remotely
hinted at what I remember.

Mulder swings the door open and looks surprised to see me standing in
his hall at two o'clock in the morning.

"Scully? What's wrong?" he asks me as he wipes his sleepy eyes.

"Mulder, why in the hell didn't you ever tell me?" I ask him, holding up
the package I brought over with me.

He leans up against the doorframe and sighs, taking the video package
out of my hand. He examines the title as if it were new to him, as if he
wasn't the one who gave this to me. His eyes finally meet mine, and I
know the truth. His eyes always tell the truth. The memories are real.

Sweet Jesus, I think, as I feel my knees involuntarily begin to go out
from under me. Mulder grabs my arm and holds me up, pulling me into his
apartment. My attempts at staying rational about this are slowly fading
away.

"Scully, come in. We need to talk," he tells me as he guides me to the
couch.

I cannot answer for I cannot talk. I have lost my voice.

**********************************************

July 1994

"Hi! What are you doing here?" I ask, surprised to see Scully again
today. I had already spoken to her earlier, after getting my ass chewed
out by Skinner for leaving my weak excuse of an assignment. I certainly
didn't expect to see her again so soon.

"I just thought I'd stop by to see how you are doing. I know you are
upset about that tape. . ." she starts to say, as she remains standing
in the hall.

"Don't worry about it. It is just one more incident of 'so close but yet
so far' in my life. I suppose someday I will get used to it. I'll
probably expect it as the norm, actually," I tell her.

It is true. I'm always on the verge of discovering everything I need to
know, only to be thwarted back again. This isn't the first time.

"Can I come in?" she asks, and I feel stupid for not inviting her in.
Just a few days ago I was afraid to be seen with her, afraid they are
following us. Fuck them all now. It doesn't matter who I'm with.

"Yeah. Sure. I'm sorry," I say, stepping back to let her in to my
apartment.

She walks by me, sits down on my couch and focuses on the television.

"Did you get enough evidence on your wiretap yet?" she asks. She knows
that there will never be enough evidence as long as they want to keep me
there. I might be sitting in that damn hotel until I'm sixty-five. They
will have to come and fetch me for my retirement party. Scully just
wants for me to talk about it. I sit down next to her and stare blankly
at the TV.

"No, I didn't get enough evidence to make any arrests yet. That's okay.
I have nothing better to do but sit and wait. Well, I have better things
to do, I'm just not allowed to do them anymore," I say, and she still
focuses away from me.

"We, Mulder. We aren't allowed to do them anymore," she tells me with
all seriousness.

I wish I felt that way. She was assigned to the X-Files, nothing more.
It is her job to watch me for them, make sure I trod the straight and
narrow. They were borne of my body and blood. Not hers. Her sacrifices
have been nothing compared to mine.

"You aren't stuck in the world of the mundane everyday, Scully. They let
you go back to your old assignment. You aren't the one being punished,"
I tell her, a little too harshly I guess.

"Is that what you believe? That you are in this alone? You said it
yourself this afternoon. You still have me. I am being punished by being
separated from you and this isn't just a one way street. Get over
yourself, Mulder," she says, as she turns to me, her eyes flaring with
anger.

"That isn't what I meant, Scully. They aren't trying to get rid of you
for good. They don't want you to quit. They never will. It's me that's
the thorn in their sides, not you," I say.

"I didn't choose to walk away. I would never walk away from you," is all
she says back to me as she places her hand over mine. It is true. She
never would.

Neither of us says anything for several minutes. Her hand doesn't move
from mine. My eyes don't move from the TV screen.

"What are you watching, Mulder?" she asks.

"'Superstars of the Superbowl," I answer.

"Isn't that the one you get for free when you subscribe to the swimsuit
issue offer of 'Sports Illustrated'?" she asks, a slight touch of
playfulness reaching out through her voice.

"You know me. Can't pass up a Kathy Ireland picture," I say, "No,
actually, had I subscribed to the swimsuit issue offer, you'd be
watching an entirely different type of video. You know, girls frolicking
in the sand and all."

"I would say they would be wearing too much clothes for your taste," she
says with a sly grin.

"Actually, the most beautiful woman I know is usually buttoned up from
neck to ankle and has of late taken to wearing a large trench coat
almost constantly even in summer," I say, and I don't know why. It just
comes out of my mouth.

Scully knows she is beautiful, but that isn't all she is. Her beauty
would be nothing without that mind that goes with it. That is what makes
her so damn special to me.

Her hand is still over mine.

"I should be going," she says, as she finally pulls her hand away. I
catch it quickly in mine before she can escape.

"No. Stay," I say.

*********************************************

December 1998

Mulder tries to make me sit down on his couch, but images of what
happened there years ago rattle off in my mind, one after another, with
such newfound clarity it is as if it happened yesterday. I shake his
hand off of me, confident my own legs can carry me to the chair in the
corner.

I sink into the chair and hug the throw pillow, who's place I'm
occupying, close to my chest. It must be my feeble attempt to put
another layer between myself and what I now know is true. Mulder sits
opposite of me, not needing to hide behind anything. I can't bring
myself to look him in the eye yet. Instead, I choose to watch one
lonesome fish circle his large home. The fish. I remember something
about those damn fish.

"I always wondered if you would ever remember," Mulder says quietly.

"Now I am left to wonder why you never told me," I say, bitterness
rising up into my voice.

"I thought I was, uh. . ." he starts and our eyes meet.

"Please say anything but you thought you were protecting me, because in
this case, there was nothing to protect me from but you," I tell him.

He says nothing back to me, instead our eyes watch each other from
across the room, locked on to one another. Words about personal issues
were never easy coming between us, talk of feelings or emotions rarely
make it to the surface. Maybe that is why he never told me. Maybe that
is why I never remembered.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, breaking the careful silence
enveloping the room.

My eyes do not move from his. How could he have questions? He's the one
with the answers.

"Go ahead," I say, sounding as detached and distant as I feel.

"What upsets you more? The fact that you didn't remember after you came
back or the fact that it happened in the first place?" he asks, also
presenting his best detached, clinical voice.

"Don't you dare try to analyze me, Mulder. Don't you even dare," I say
vehemently, pointing a finger at him like I'm scolding a child.

"I'm not trying to analyze you. If I were, you'd be the one on the
couch. I just want to know," he says, a softness edging back into his
voice, working me over like it always does. I can hardly believe that it
must have worked so well once. Was it just once?

I haven't had time to think about it. The memories started to come back
to me and I drove over here as fast as I could, hoping to find out it
wasn't true.

I don't even know what bothers me more about this whole thing. Was it
because it happened in the first place? Was it? I can't even answer
these questions for myself. Maybe I'm even mad at myself for not
remembering.

"Mulder, I know something happened, but I can't even remember enough yet
to tell you whether we made love, had sex or just plain old fucked on
your stupid couch."

*******************************************

July 1994

I don't know how it happened so easily. My arm is around her and she is
snuggled next to me watching this piece of shit video. So much for
needing a romantic, chick flick. Then again, Scully and chick just don't
belong in the same thought anyway.

I will admit it has been hard working without her. That is one of the
unbearable parts of the X-files being shut down. I never realized how
far Quantico, Virginia really was. Well, maybe not so far mileage-wise.
Just far when you miss someone.

Hopefully they won't go trying to reassign someone else to be my
partner. That would be the final blow. Not only would I have lost her,
but the thought that she could be replaced is unfathomable. If I can't
work with her, I will work alone.

Scully seems so content in our closeness, and I'm afraid to move. If I
do, she might shift away and this moment will be broken. This is the
closest thing to normal life I've felt in years. Could we make something
like this last between us? I doubt it. I can't make anything work these
days.

"Mulder, I need to go home," she says quietly, as if she is trying to
convince herself of it.

"No, you don't. You can stay right here with me for awhile longer. I
miss you," I admit to her, and she doesn't get up to leave.

"I miss you, too. Even if we just spent hours together flying back from
Puerto Rico," she says.

I was sad when our flight was over. It was like old times, the two of us
sitting so close, crowded into our cheap coach seats. When did I begin
to miss her physical presence so much?

"Mulder, you know everything is going to work out, don't you?" she says,
more of a statement than a question.

"I don't know about that, Scully. I don't think anything can get worse
than listening to and transcribing hour upon hour of wiretaps. This is
shit work, and they know it. I swear they just want me to quit, to force
me out," I say. It doesn't get much lower than what I'm doing now.

"Well, you will know they are serious about getting rid of you when they
have you doing background checks," she says with a smile, "But,
seriously, would you ever quit?"

"Not this week," I say. Maybe my breaking point will come next week. Or
next year. I don't know.

She shifts against me, moving in closer. I could get used to this. I
shouldn't be thinking like that. This is Scully, my partner. Scratch
that. Former partner. But that still doesn't make it right. Can she hear
my heart beating faster as she gets closer?

I lean over and kiss the top of her head, offering up what little
reassurance I can that I'm glad she is here with me and that everything
will be okay. Judging by her reaction, maybe that was a little closer
than she wanted to be. Scully pulls away from me, and sits up
straighter, a look of concern crossing her face. It only took a second,
but she has become Scully, my all too serious former partner again.

"I'm sorry," I say, hoping I didn't cross any line that couldn't be
uncrossed.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be sorry, it should
be me. I was getting a little too comfortable on your shoulder," she
says, as she starts to get up off the couch.

I follow her to the door, not wanting her to go. I have no idea when we
might see each other again.

"Goodnight, Mulder," she says, as she turns to me.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" I say, as I pull her into my arms just to
hug her. No, nothing more. Honestly. She would never want more. I don't
even think I want more. Do I?

She lingers in my arms longer than I ever imagined she would, and I lean
down and kiss her forehead, pressing my lips against her longer than I
ever should have. She doesn't pull away. My hands move up to her face,
and I gently caress the curves of her cheekbones. She looks up at me,
her face a picture book, each individual feature telling a story of
apprehension or anticipation or exhilaration. Each one of those emotions
is struggling there, battling for the proprietorship of Dana Scully's
face. I think apprehension is winning.

I lean in slowly, giving her all the time in the world to back away
before our lips brush. It is so slight it barely registers, but I know
it is real as I pull away. She is still silently watching me, waiting on
me as I wait on her. I kiss her again, this one is given with far more
intention then the first. She rises up to meet me, her mouth opening up
under mine, pleading for more.

This can't be happening, can it?

***************************************

Title: Repressed 2/3
Author: Jori Remington
Category: SA
Keywords: MS Something
Rating: NC-17 mostly
Archive: Yes
E-Mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Dislaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013, and Fox
Summary: Scully confronts Mulder with some unexpected memories she has
repressed for years.

*****************************************

December 1998

"I certainly would have never called it 'plain old fucking,' Scully," he
snaps at me, and it begins to register that perhaps he cherishes these
memories I'm just discovering. I do not want to diminish his feelings,
but I want some answers.

How many times have they played through his head? How many times has he
looked at me and had those memories repeat over and over? Mulder and his
God damn memory.

"Then what was it, Mulder?" I ask again, somehow missing the whole issue
of why he never told me. I need to steer this conversation back that
way, but I need to desperately find out what in the hell went on here.

"It was. . . it was great, Scully. And then you were gone," he tells me,
his voice laden with emotion.

"Mulder, I feel as if I woke up this morning and discovered I had slept
with my brother," I say to him.

"Is that what you think of me as? A brother? I thought I was more than
that," Mulder says, his eyes leaving mine.

"You are. You have been. I just don't know what to think right now. What
do you want me to think of you as, Mulder? A lover?" I ask him.

"Your partner," he simply says.

I close my eyes, allowing the memories to flood my brain. The missing
pieces are starting to fill in. I came over here. We sat and watched
that video together. I was going to leave him here. We kissed. I was
going to leave and we kissed. . .

"Mulder, last summer, if it hadn't been for that bee, would we have made
love?" I ask.

"I can't answer for you," he says, but he doesn't answer for himself,
either.

"Would you have wanted to? Would you have continued this charade and
pretended it was the first time?" I ask, needing desperately to know,
yet not knowing why.

"It would have never gone that far," he says.

"Why not?" I ask.

"You would have stopped it."

"Why?"

"Because apparently I'm more like a brother to you now."

***********************************************

July 1994

"What was that?" she asks, as she pulls away from me slightly.

"I don't know, but please don't stop," I tell her, pulling her back to
me. She comes back into my arms without a second thought. Scully's face
is lit up with what I can only describe as happiness. The two of us
haven't had much cause for being happy lately, and this isn't really how
I intended to make her smile again. It sure is working, though.

I stand in front of my front door, swaying slowly with her in my arms to
music that only we can hear, the rhythm section consisting mainly of my
pounding heart.

"Would, you, uh, like to sit down again?" I ask her, forcing myself to
be willing to accept what ever answer she gives me. A puzzled look
crosses her face, as if she is weighing her options carefully before she
moves one way or another. Kissing while standing in front of my door was
okay, but getting out of our present vertical position seems to be her
hold up.

"Um, I don't know about this, Mulder," she says. Scully's expression
keeps alternating between a smile and that little furrow she gets in her
brow.

"I promise, we won't take this anywhere you don't want it to go," I tell
her, as I gently move the two of us back into my living room.

***************************************

December 1998

Mulder is silently brooding over on his side of the room, clearly upset
about the brother comment I made. It is true, though. I cannot view him
as a lover. I have thought about it before, wondered what catalyst would
push us to that next level. I never suspected we already had gone there
without any real catalyst at all.

I see some of it so clearly now. I remember him pulling me across this
very room, pulling back to the couch. I can't look at him while these
visions filter through my brain, for I'm afraid my face will flush with
embarrassment. He chooses not to look at me either.

Mulder and I were on that couch, I was under him, he was over me,
kissing me. He pulled me to that couch. A thought flashes through my
brain like wildfire. He pulled me to the couch.

"Mulder, was I a willing participant. . ."

He is up an off the couch in a second, standing before me with his hands
on his hips.

"What in the fuck are you implying, Scully? That I raped you? Jesus
Christ! You don't remember anything, do you?" he nearly shouts at me.

"No," is all I can say, for it is the truth. What I do remember is so
hazy, it as if it were a dream.

"I would *never* hurt you. Never. Not then, not now. I can't even
believe you would think that. Fuck this whole thing. I've gone from
being your damn brother to a rapist in a matter of minutes," he says as
he begins pacing angrily in front of me.

I can't believe I would even think that, either. Mulder would never do
that. This is Mulder, my partner.

"Mulder, I'm sorry, I'm just so confused. I'm angry. I'm hurt. I don't
really know what to think right now," I tell him, but he still keeps on
pacing.

The phone rings, causing both of us to jump. He grabs for it, answering
it after one ring. Mulder sounds angry. I'm the one who should be angry.
He's the one who should be apologizing.

"Mulder. No, Frohike, now is not a good time. . . no, I don't have a
'chick' here. Yeah, Agent Scully is here. No, no. . . we are discussing
something about work. Yeah, if I get a chance."

He hangs up the phone and tosses it across the room to the couch.

"Does he know?" I ask, wondering if perhaps Mulder told Frohike while I
was missing, just in passing. Maybe he missed me and told someone.
Anyone. I don't even know what he did while I was missing.

Mulder stops pacing and looks squarely at me.

"No one knew but me. And now you," he says.

***********************************************

July 1994

She is under me, her mouth open to my kisses, her tongue darting in and
out of my mouth, teasing me ever so slightly. I feel her hands move in
between our bodies, unbuttoning my jeans. She is so close it is hard to
tell where I end and she begins, yet we could be closer. We are going to
be so much closer to something if she keeps *that* up with her hand.

I somehow manage to sit up, pulling her with me so she is straddling my
lap. She is in control now, her mouth meeting mine in fiery, hot kisses.
I would have never imagined she could kiss like this. I have never
imagined her like this at all.

I undo the buttons on her suit coat, and when she sheds that, I help her
pull off the silk shirt she had on underneath followed by her bra. I sit
back for a moment, to admire her breasts, before I pull one perfect
nipple into my mouth and feel it grow hard under my tongue. Scully
moans. I made Scully moan. I will never forget that sound for the rest
of my life.

My fingers fumble at the side button at the waist of her suitpants and
she rises off of me, and undresses the rest of the way quickly. She is
completely nude on my lap and she is beckoning me to join her. I thank
God that I changed into jeans and a T-shirt when I got back from my
*job*, because I would not have the patience to wait for all those
little buttons on a dress shirt to be undone.

Her tongue is traveling a slow line down and around my neck, and she
nips at me slightly. It doesn't matter is she leaves a mark. No one sees
me all day anyway.

"Scully, lie down. I want to do something," I tell her, and I dip my
head in between her thighs, slowly, teasingly working my way to just the
right spot. Oh, yeah. I love this, I think, as she shifts her hips ever
so slightly, moving her closer and closer to me.

"Mulder, please. Yes. Like that," she moans, and I am only to glad to
oblige.

I can feel the tension building in her body, and I bring her to release
quickly, hoping I can do just that many more times tonight.

As I sit up and watch her body rock with delightful tremors, the
forgotten tape in the VCR hits the end and ejects itself. The TV
station is much louder than I remembered, and images of Apollo 11
roaring into space fill the screen.

"I believe you made me see rockets fly, Mulder," Scully says with a sly
grin.

"It's been twenty-five years this month since Apollo 11 landed on the
moon. Anybody watching TV in the next few days has a chance to see a few
more rockets fly. Maybe even you. . ."

She sits up and pulls me to her, her mouth meeting mine again. I am
filled with the taste of Scully and I still want more. Scully backs up
a little to look at me.

"Now I'm going to take you to the moon," she says, pulling me yet even
closer.

*******************************************

December 1998

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I ask, getting to the heart of the
matter. So, we had sex and I don't remember it. I can't change that.
What I do want to know is why he never said a damn word about it all
these years.

"At first, after you came back, I thought you remembered. When I came to
the hospital, you said you didn't remember anything *after* Duane Barry.
Then I handed you the video, and you made a comment about knowing there
was a reason to live. I was so sure you wouldn't forget something like
us. . . together, no matter what trauma you suffered," he tells me. He
has stopped pacing, and is back to sitting on his side of the room, his
arms crossed in front of him, protecting him from any more barbs I may
throw his way.

"Didn't we ever discuss it after it happened, Mulder?" I ask him. I'm
sure I would remember something. Even if my mind blocked out the primary
event, how could it block out any mention of it?

"Actually, no. After we, uh, slept together, things got a little hectic.
I ended up chasing through sewers and such, and we talked, but it never
came up. I did ask you if you wanted to come over once, when you came to
meet me at the park, but you said no. Then came Krycek, and things never
were the same again," he says, giving me his best, please forgive me
puppy dog face.

"And all these years you didn't wonder if I remembered and I just didn't
say anything?" I ask.

"Damn straight I wondered. At first, I just thought you needed time, but
then weeks stretched into months, followed by years. I didn't want to
say anything for fear you *didn't* want to be reminded. I thought
perhaps you didn't want to deal with one more thing after your
abduction," he says.

"I don't remember so much of it," I say, getting frustrated with myself.

"What do you remember?" he asks.

"Scattered images, really. I remember watching the football video with
you, then going to leave. Then. . . some more stuff. I'm beginning to
remember something on TV about space travel. Apollo 11, I think. . ." I
start to say. All of a sudden, images of a bar and a keychain for a
birthday present come to mind.

He just looks at me, seriously. He is not taking this lightly, his
respect for me running deep.

"The keychain, Mulder. Is that the reason behind it?" I ask.

"I wanted to see if you did remember. I wanted to see if you were just
hiding from me for all that time. It was then that I realized you didn't
even know it ever happened."

"And you still didn't tell me?" I ask, still angry at him for keeping
this all from me. Still angry that he had memories of me that I could
not share.

"By that time, I didn't know how, and then your cancer. . . it just
didn't seem right," he tells me. His eyes carry a message of apology
across the room.

Can I forgive him for one more omission?

"What else do you remember, Scully?" he asks.

"The couch. That couch. I remember. . ." I begin to say as images of his
face between my thighs comes into my mind. I can feel my face becoming
flush with the new memory and I look away from Mulder.

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you understand, Scully? No
matter what, I do love you. I don't want this to hurt you."

***************************************

Title: Repressed 3/3
Author: Jori Remington
Category: SA
Keywords: MS Something
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes
Dislaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013, and Fox
E-mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Summary: Scully confronts Mulder with some unexpected memories she has
repressed for years.

***********************************

July 1994

I can hardly believe this is happening, as Scully and I slip and slide
in sticky delight on my couch. Thank God it is so easy to wipe up wet
spills on leather.

Scully is on top, rising and falling on me with an ever quickening pace.
Her face is marked with an expression of pure delight, which is great,
for I can hardly contain myself, either.

"Mulder," she says, as she leans forwards, "the fish are watching us."

I laugh out loud. Leave it to Scully to be concerned that my fish are
voyeurs.

"I think they will recover from the experience, Scully, though I doubt
it is something they will ever forget," I tell her, pulling her down
into a frenzied kiss.

"I wonder if I will recover?" she says, as she moves away from my hungry
mouth.

"I don't think I want you to," I say. I put my hands on her hips,
wanting her to speed up. Instead she gets a teasing grin on her face and
stops moving all together.

"We don't want things to go too fast, do we?" she says, as she starts to
rock ever so slightly up and down my cock.

"No, but. . ." I start to say, but she silences me with a kiss. If she
doesn't move faster soon, I will be a begging man.

"I want to fuck you so hard, you never forget it. I want you to come
hard inside of me, Mulder, and I want to watch your face while you do
it," she says. I'm sure her laughter that follows that statement is
directly related to the stunned look on my face. Scully talks dirty.

"Trust me, Scully, I will come how ever you want me to. You've just got
to start moving," I say, and I do sound like I'm begging now.

"How's this?" she asks. Like she even has to ask. I'm sunk to hilt in
Scully, and she has to question if is right.

"That is so good," I say, as she bounces on me with a maddening
ferocity. I am so close to toppling over the edge into heaven, I can
barely take it.

"Scully, slow down. You've got to catch up to me," I tell her, not
wanting to take this trip on my own.

She leans back with her hands on either side of me, giving my fingers
better access to her most sensitive spot. Scully and I suddenly moan in
unison. Who ever decided we should be split up ought to have their head
examined.

"I'm so close, Mulder," she moans, and I'm glad for it. I don't think I
can hold off for a minute longer.

"Come for me, Scully. I want to see your face while you do it," I say,
mimicking her earlier words.

"Not without you," she says, as she returns to a more frenetic motion up
and down on me.

"You have nothing to worry about there," I say, as my hips buck up under
her, finally reaching such sweet release. I cannot think to move my
fingers on her body anymore, and am thankful when she takes over.

"Oh, God!" I barely hear her exclaim as she topples over on to me.

"Scully?" I ask quietly.

"Wha. . ." she ask, her breathing still hampered by the orgasm I can
feel traveling through her body.

"You were right. I did see the moon. And a few thousand stars along the
way."

*************************************************

December 1998

"What do we do now, Mulder, when tomorrow comes?" I ask. I need to know
how I'm going to get through this. I know there is really nothing he can
do to help me, besides understand my feelings.

"We do the same thing we do every day, Scully. We try to save the
world," he says rather snidely. He's had years to explore all these
feelings. I've only had a few hours.

"I just don't think this is anything to joke about, Mulder. I'm still
angry at you for covering up something so immense for all these years.
What ever happened to the truth, Mulder? Or does that only apply when it
concerns you?" I say. I still haven't left the chair in the corner,
still haven't given up the pillow I was hiding behind.

"No, the truth doesn't only apply to me and you know that. After so much
time went by, I just saw no point in telling you. It wouldn't have
brought. . ." he stops, as if he is afraid of what response his next
words might bring.

"Brought what, Mulder?" I ask, "You can tell me anything. I don't know
why you don't believe that."

"It wouldn't have brought you back to me," he says, his voice flat and
calm.

"Is that what you wanted all these years?" I ask. There have been days
when I wanted nothing more than to run away somewhere warm and tropical
with Mulder, but I've always managed to contain those feelings. Or at
least I thought I have.

Besides, that isn't what we are about. We are partners in the FBI.
Platonic friends. Nothing more. Platonic friends who would go to the
ends of the earth for one another, and who have no other friends
anymore.

"Scully, I don't know what I've wanted all these years, but I realized
years ago that what happened here wasn't what you wanted. I think you
may need to talk to someone else about this if you feel it is going to
have an effect on our working relationship," he says.

"You want me to go talk to Karen? About this? Do you understand what
might happen to any relationship we might still have? They will use
this, Mulder. You know that," I tell him flat out. We are hanging on a
tenuous thread as it is at the FBI. This could just be what they need to
snap that thread, leaving us to dangle on separate ends of what used to
be the same piece.

"Whoever you talk to, I will be there if you need me. I will go with
you. All I know is that I can't be your therapist on this one."

"You? Be my therapist? The idea of you as anyone's therapist is asinine,
Mulder," I snap at him. How could he help anyone with their problems
when he can't even figure out his own. He hasn't even learned to trust
me enough to tell me something that involves me and my body. God only
knows what else he is hiding.

"It was just a suggestion. You are the one wondering where we go from
here," Mulder says, as his hand gently glides over the surface of his
couch. I can only imagine what he is thinking.

********************************************

July 1994

"What a mess!" Scully exclaims, as I grab a kitchen towel to wipe off my
couch.

"But it is a good mess," I say, as she sits in the chair opposite of me
while I finish up my 'housekeeping.'

She is silent as she sits all wrapped up in my blanket watching me. I
just pray she doesn't regret this. I certainly don't.

"So, where do we go from here?" she asks, just as I sit my naked ass
down on my somewhat sticky couch.

"Well, look on the bright side. They can't split us up over this," I say
to an all to serious Scully.

"Right," is all she says.

"Come on, Scully. Don't go weird on me now. We can work through
anything. Besides, I always knew this day would come," I say, and a tiny
smile flits across her face with my choice of words.

"I really should be getting home, Mulder. I have a class to teach early
in the morning," she says as she rises out of the chair. She is still
wrapped in the blanket as she picks up all her clothes.

"You don't have to leave, Scully. You can stay here with me," I plead. I
don't want her to think this is it, a one time deal, filed away, never
to be mentioned again. I want her to know how much I need her here by my
side.

"Where would I sleep? On the couch with you?" she asks, and I can
already tell she is leaving.

"I have a bed, Scully. Somewhere back there. Please stay," I tell her,
hoping something will make her stay.

"No. Not tonight. I really need to get home," she says, as she gathers
up the last of her clothes and goes into my bathroom to get dressed.

Scully comes back into the living room just as I'm putting the football
video tape back into its box and turning off a picture of Neil Armstrong
bouncing across the moon.

"Well," she says. We are quite the picture. She's the buttoned-up FBI
agent again, while I'm standing naked with 'Superstars of the Superbowl'
in my hand.

"I'll call you, Scully," I say, realizing how stupid it sounds too late.
She just smiles.

"Of course you will, Mulder. The one thing I know I can always count on
you to do is call me," she says, as she gathers up her purse and walks
towards the door.

"Scully. . . I, uh. well," I start, but can't get the next words out.

"Yeah, me too," she answers as she slips out the door.

*********************************************

December 1998

"I need to go home," I say as I begin to rise out of this chair.

"No. Please stay," he says, and I begin to remember our parting words
from that night. Or, rather, our lack of parting words.

"Why?" I ask. Mulder has no reason for me to stay. He has told me what
he can. The only blanks he could fill in now would be exactly what
happened, and I don't know if I'm ready for all the finer details yet.

"I don't want you to leave here mad. Scully, I'm sorry. I should have
told you. It was unfair of me to keep something like this from you, but
you've got to understand, it hurt me a lot back then. You came back from
the dead, and the one thing you forgot was being with me," he says.

"Mulder, for once, this isn't about you and how you feel. This is about
me," I say candidly. He has a special knack in his way to manipulate
everything so he is the focus. He is a pro at it.

"No, Scully, this time it is about *us.*"

Us? Since when has there been an us that he recognizes?

"I don't know what you want me to say, Mulder? That I forgive you for
not telling me? That I want you to tell me in vivid detail everything
that went on here that night? Or was it day? I don't even know. God,
Mulder, my memory of it is so filled with holes, I wouldn't even know
where to begin," I say, wanting to just get up and leave this place.

"Ask me anything. I will tell you as honestly as I can without hurting
you, Scully. I think I've said that before," he says. He is watching me
through slit eyes, pondering my next move. He expects me to leave. One
of us always leaves the room when things get too close, and this time
should be no exception to the rule. Except there are so many questions
still in my head.

I can only think of one question. It flutters to the top of my mind and
out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Was I any good?"

THE END


*****************************************

e-mail graciously accepted at damienma@aol.com. Please don't flame me.
It is my son's third birthday and I already have the matches to light
the candles.