A Lifetime Ago

Date: Sun, 31 May 1998

Disclaimers: Not mine.

Summary: A month after Scully's Christmas visit to Mulder. A sequel to In
A Lifetime, and Jen Collins' Life series.

DO NOT ARCHIVE without express permission from author.

Thanks to Jen C. for the use of her characters and universe.

****

I reached for him and he came to me. He spoke my name, and I held him. He
trembled in my embrace and wrapped his arms around me, holding tightly, as
if to never let go.

But that was all.

And that was a month ago.

He broke the embrace, and I waited, for the tears, the confessions, the
story to come tumbling out.

I have waited in vain.

He asked then if I would please leave, that he needed time. He promised he
would talk to me, promised without my asking, and I was so happy at my
success that I accepted his vow as truth. I left him that night, and I have
not been back since.

We leave each other messages on our answering machines. I still get my
phone call in the wee hours of the morning. Yet we still say nothing.

Now it is the end of January, the coldest part of the year. A Friday, and I
have called in sick, made my voice sound harsh and ugly, laid the groundwork
for not coming in on Monday, as well.

I have plans for this weekend. The time has come for Mulder to talk to me.

****

The blinds are drawn but I know it is snowing. I think my furnace is broken;
either that or I just haven't turned it on. It's cold in here.

I lay on the couch in short sleeves, my self-imposed penance. I am a
fucking coward, you see. I told her I would talk to her, that I would make
an effort. A month ago it all seemed so easy, but now I see it differently.

Outside, somebody's car comes to an icy halt with a blare of a horn. A man
and woman begin to laugh, and I tell myself it's not her it's not her it's
not her.

Right on cue, Scully knocks. "Mulder?"

I sit up, clear my throat. I've known she would come, of course. I'm only
surprised it took her this long. "It's open," I call.

She comes in, only hesitating slightly. Wet snowflakes dot her hair and
shoulders. No rose this time. "Is it okay that I come here?"

This is my opportunity, my chance to tell her no, it isn't okay. I don't
even have to scream at her. I can be calm and ask that she please come back
some other time. But I say nothing and she walks into the living room and I
have lost my chance.

She takes off her coat and lays it on the chair, gestures toward the couch.
I nod briefly and she sits, perches, really. After the way I've treated her
in the past, I'm not surprised.

"How are you, Mulder?" she asks.

"Fine," I answer. She looks at me. "Really." She continues to gaze at me,
and I feel myself getting annoyed with her. "Look, Scully."

"I've missed you," she says.

Deja vu. "Same here," I say, a bit lamely. The anger is dying down, but
only temporarily, I know.

Scully clasps her hands, places them on her knees. "Can we talk now?" she
asks. "Because I'm ready."

"What if I'm not?" I shoot back.

****

I anticipated this reaction, but doggedly, I stick to my script. "Are you
still angry with me?"

Mulder sighs. "Dammit, Scully. I'm not--"

"Yes, you are," I say.

"No, I'm not," he interrupts. "Not anymore." I raise an eyebrow at this.
"I mean, I know it isn't your fault, not directly. You didn't know. And if
someone had offered you the choice you would have killed them before taking it."

I expected this, too. The I'm-a-psychologist-after-all answer. But I let
it lie.

"Scully..." His hands twist and pull at each other. I know they hurt him,
in the cold and wet all the tiny bones he broke in his escape sing with
pain. And I know, too, that if I were to ask he would tell me he has not
taken any medication for it.

"Scully, I'm not ready for this." It takes him a while, but he finally
looks me in the eye.

I nod. I didn't think he was. "What happened at Christmas...can we go back
to that, Mulder?"

His eyes narrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Whispering a small prayer, I hold out my hand. He looks at it, then back up
at me. I struggle to keep the desperate hope from my eyes. His gaze drops
back to my outstretched hand.

I am about to give up when he takes it.

****

I tell myself I am testing her, gauging her reaction. I watch her carefully
for the spark of triumph in her eyes, the pleasure that comes from my
obedience. I know if I see it I will begin to scream.

But she only smiles at me, tentatively. Our hands stay locked for some
time. Then gently, her thumb begins moving over the back of my hand in a
circular caressing motion.

My flesh crawls at the touch, and I can't help it, I jerk away from her,
cradling my hand against my chest as if burned. "Don't!" My voice is
high-pitched and shaky.

Scully bows her head. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispers. She looks back up
at me, then holds out her hand again. "I promise I won't move an inch."

She's got more guts than I, that much is certain. In the face of that
courage, I can't resist. I allow her to hold my hand again.

We sit for a time. It is still cold in here, and once Scully shivers. I
feel ashamed that she must suffer because of me, and I almost draw away from
her again. But the truth is I am enjoying this, sitting quietly, making
contact with another human being that for once isn't painful or degrading.

Then Scully, who has always been so much stronger than I, reaches up with
her other hand. And I know she won't hurt me, I *know* it, but habit is so
damn hard to break, and I begin to pull away, creating space between our
formerly locked hands. She says, "Please, Mulder," but does not reach out.

It is up to me, and I am so tired of this, so tired of being afraid, so I
exhale shakily, then move into her arms.

****

So we are back where we started, a month ago, a lifetime ago. My arms are
around him and he is stiff in my embrace, his head not quite resting on my
shoulder. He makes no move to hold me back, but I can wait. I have all
weekend for that.

I yearn to stroke his back, rub the tension from his shoulders, but I keep
myself still. It is victory enough to hold him. He can hardly bear to be
touched, and I do not want to scare him away.

We sit, and my arms begin to ache, but I do not move. Little by little,
Mulder relaxes, and the object in my arms begins to feel more like a human
being and less like a block of wood. His breathing evens, and his shoulders
finally droop enough to let his head come to rest on my shoulder.

Slowly I bow my neck until my chin brushes the top of his head. He stiffens
again, then relaxes as he realizes what the feather-light touch above him
is. I lower my head further, turn my face and rest my cheek in the softness
of his hair.

Mulder inhales deeply, a shaky sigh. A muscle in my arm twitches
involuntarily and he flinches, then sighs again. I breathe shallowly and
wait for it.

The tension in him begins to build again, and slight tremors ripple through
him. His breathing becomes more erratic, and his shoulders jerk up, then
down. Finally, after an endless time, the first sob escapes him.

I am statue-still, incapable of moving. The slightest motion on my part and
he will flee. Another sob is torn from him, a heart-wrenching sound full of
incomprehensible pain. My eyes burn as tears well up and spill over,
wetting his hair.

He sobs again, no tears yet, and begins to rock, seeking an outlet for his
grief, his anger and shame, his despair and self-loathing. Now I finally
move, gently increasing the pressure in my arms, holding him tight. I rock
with him and whisper into his hair, "Let it go, Mulder."

A keening wail bursts from his lips and now he begins to cry. His whole
body shudders as sobs wrack him, and I am crying, too. "Let it go," I say
again, although I know he is beyond hearing me.

But I hear it, and I obey.

****

When I was away, it used to rain sometimes. From my cell, I would watch the
clouds as they rolled in, blotting out the blue sky that was my usual view.
I would watch the rain, the occasional brilliant flash of lightning. I
would watch as the clouds eventually broke up and shredded, revealing
patches of blue behind the gray.

Scully continues to hold me, long after I am through crying. Her shirt is
drenched, stuck to my cheek with tears and snot. One hand gently rubs my
back, up and down, and I find the repetitive motion soothing, lulling me to
sleep.

I blink my eyes fiercely, wincing slightly as swollen lids crash down on
sore cheeks. I have never cried this much before, but I do not feel
ashamed. Perhaps because I have been taken so low that the concept of
dignity is forever lost to me; perhaps because of Scully.

I draw in a shaky breath, and my shoulders hitch with a last, stray sob.
Scully croons softly into my hair, nonsense words, words I know she needs to
hear as much as I do.

My eyes drift closed again, and I struggle to open them. Sleep is something
I dread and fear, when I lay helpless before *her* again, shrieking and
writhing under her attentions until I scream myself awake. Part of me wants
to believe that I won't dream if I fall asleep now, but the rest of me is
not so hopeful.

I know that I will begin talking, soon. I will distance myself emotionally,
wrap myself in a cloak of indifference, and I will tell her the sordid
story, I will tell her everything. The amazing thing is that I no longer
fear this knowledge; now I hold it close, turn it over and examine it,
marvel at myself.

I cannot keep my eyes open any longer, and Scully lifts her head slightly.
Strands of my hair are matted to her cheek, and they tug at my scalp. She
presses a soft kiss on my head. "Go to sleep, Mulder," she says quietly,
and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. "It can wait."

Of course she knew what I was thinking. Relieved, I finally give up the
fight against slumber and let myself go limp. "I won't let you go," Scully
whispers into my hair.

I know, I want to say, but I am so tired. As I sink into sleep, I realize
it doesn't matter. She knows anyway.

****

END

Author's Notes: There are two more sequels to this, waiting in the wings.
All I need is some good feedback, and they shall be posted quickly.
Otherwise, expect one story a week.