From: Jori <damienma@bellsouth.net>
Date: Tue, 02 Nov 1999 18:32:53 -0500
Subject: REV: Repressed I 1/2 by Jori NC-17/MSR

Title: Repressed I 1/2
Author: Jori 
E-Mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Scully discovers she has forgotten something she really
shouldn't have.
Category: SRA
Keywords:MS something
Archive: Yes. And replace any previous version with this one, please
Spoilers: Little Green Men, Duane Barry, Ascension, One Breath, Max,
Tempus Fugit, FTF
Disclaimers: Not mine, but wouldn't it be fun if this really
happened? They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
Author's Notes: This story was originally posted February 6, 1999 and
people still ask me to continue it. So here it is. I did make some
subtle changes to this part. Like the time. Thanks to everybody who's
asked for this to go on and thank you, Mojo. You are the best!

visit me at http:/www.netroenterprises.com/stories

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

June 1999

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 five
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 this?
Perhaps he was glad I forgot, forever letting him off the hook. We
could just go back to what we were and he was set free from whatever
obligation he might have felt. A part of me feels violated, as if
something precious has been stolen away, 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 came flooding over me, as they bubbled up from the deepest
recesses of my mind. These memories couldn't possibly be mine, could
they? Memories of entwined legs and arms and mouths and souls. There
is no way these memories could be real. No way. It is a trick my mind
is playing on me. That is all it is.

But somehow I know better.

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 with one less option. Of course, 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,
creating images of something that never happened? 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
want 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 yet I am 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 five years that even remotely
hinted at what I am remembering.

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. I can
tell he just threw on a pair of jeans, not even bothering to fasten
them, and he doesn't even have on a shirt. He crosses his arms over
his chest.

"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. 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. I know she just wants me to talk about it. To open up. 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 over me for them, make sure I trod the
straight and narrow. The X-Files 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 mundane wire tap, 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. 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
unless I was forced to," is all she says 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 wearing
thongs and seashells frolicking in the sand."

"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. It is warm and soft. One would never
know what these hands do all day.

"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.

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

July 1999

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 its 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 between us, and 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 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.

"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. What would make me give it all up?

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, and she gets 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 watching me silently,
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?

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

July 1999

"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 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."

Continued in part 2

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

Title: Repressed I 2/2

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 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.

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

July 1999

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 me 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 and 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? 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, who believes in aliens
and ghosts. Mulder, who's whole life is centered around finding the
truth. He would never commit such an act.

"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 if 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 too 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.
That was far too fast. I want it to be slow.

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.

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

July 1999

"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 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. He gave
me some off the cuff reason when I rationalized that gift years ago.
He thought it was cool or neat. I can't even remember his words.

"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."

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

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."

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

July 1999

"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 strand.

"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 too 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 change her mind.

"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.

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

July 1999

"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 it so good that it is worth all this?"

He doesn't answer, but instead looks at me, stunned. I walk to his
door, and leave him there, with the memories that are only his now.

The End of Part I

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