Repressed II by Jori Set in the present and the past, Scully tries to make sense of the memories she has repressed for years, and her mother tries to make sense of the loss of Scully. July 1999 There was always a future promise, waiting somewhere at the edge of our present existence. The word 'someday' was just on the tips our tongues, but never spoken. Instead I always believed it was just left hanging between us, a sweet hope that it would happen. It could happen. We just had to wait, until the time was right, until everything else was behind us. We would wait for it. Until someday. I wanted so many things someday. I wanted a big, white wedding. It sounds silly, but it is one of those childhood dreams that is never outgrown. Melissa and I would sit and discuss what song would play during the first dance, what our dresses would look like, how many guests we would invite. I just never figured into the equation the lack of a groom. Children. I have always wanted children. Someday, I thought. I always felt I had time. I know there are ways that children are possible in my life, and I know that dream isn't over, but it has changed. I wanted to hold my newborn child to my breast, watching that child as they watched me with those all-knowing baby eyes. I wanted to cradle this person, fresh from God and fresh from the heavens, in my arms while I told them all was right with the world. I wanted to fall in love with someone I hardly know but someone I couldn't possibly know better. And then there is that unspoken promise. That someday Mulder and I would be together. I believed I was willing to wait until our job, this quest we are on, wasn't the driving force in our lives. I thought we were going to wait until we could focus on us, not the world coming apart at the seams and little green men supposedly descending from the sky above. I imagined for so long that we were held together by an invisible bond of things to come in the future. I trusted him, believed that he wanted those things, too. Someday. Now I've learned that someday has already come and gone, years ago. There is no future moment to wait for. That moment has been lived already. Just not by me. I was with him, but I was not the person then that I am now. I want *this* person to be with him, not that naive soul from 1994. I wanted to remember the occasion, to mark it in time as a final declaration that we defeated *them* and could be together without fear of harm. I still don't know how to feel about him, or rather how I feel about *this.* I know I care a great deal for him, but was never sure it was enough to cross that one final boundary just yet. I was afraid of not being able to go back, of having to trade what we are for what we could perhaps be. Afraid of what we could lose for just one indiscretion. Maybe that is what scares me the most, that I am so unsure now, but was so sure way back then? I am stunned with myself. Absolutely stunned. I have done impulsive things in my life. I am no trembling virgin, untouched by man. Oh no. Not at all. But *this?* There is only one other person I can talk to about this, someone who won't use this as their final betrayal. I need a sympathetic, non-judgmental ear, and a shoulder to cry on. At one time I would have confided in Melissa, shared all my dreams with her; expressed all my worries and all my fears about this whole situation. But now she is gone. There is only my mother left now for me to share this with. "Dana? Why did you want to meet here? Is something wrong?" my mother asks, looking puzzled at our surroundings. The sun is hot yet I needed to be out of the Hoover building. Out of my apartment. "I need to talk to you, mom, about things that aren't easy to talk about. About things no one else can know about," I say, as we walk to a place to sit down. I do not want to discuss this behind closed doors. I need it all out in the open. The fountain behind us splashes, and it sounds like summer. "What is the matter, Dana? Did something happen at work or. . . with Fox?" she asks as we both sit down next to each other. "Why would you ask that, Mom?" I ask, wondering why she thinks I'm so intrinsically linked to Fox Mulder that I'd ask her here to talk about him. I know that is why I'm here, but I want to know why she would think that's why I'm here. "I don't know. Usually that look on your face is reserved for when something has happened to or with him. Dana, he's been in your life for years now. It isn't like I don't know," she says. "Don't know what?" I ask hesitantly, almost choking on the words. How could she know something I didn't, see something that isn't there? Maybe I'm the only one too blind to see the obvious. "How much you care for him. Now, what did you want to talk about?" my mother asks, leaving any mention of Mulder behind. ******************************** August 1994 "Don't you want to keep it?" he asks, not taking his eyes off of me. I close his hand around this most precious of objects, and meet those eyes for just a few seconds. "When you find her, you give it to her," I tell him, not able to look at him anymore. Ours is a combined grief for the loss of the same person. Ours is also a combined hope, that she will be found. I'm afraid to look in his eyes, afraid of whether at that moment I will see the grief or the hope, and afraid my eyes won't echo back the proper response to keep him going. I barely know this man that my daughter once called partner, but I know he thinks of her as so much more than that. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. "We will find her. I will find her," he tells me, though I can hear in his voice he has no idea how he intends to do this. I know that he is her last best hope. I meet his eyes once again, only to see a deep sorrow written there. Sometimes I don't want to share my sorrow. It should be mine alone, not some old partner's. Dana was -- *is* -- my daughter. His eyes do not falter, do not move from mine. I can feel tears welling up again, and I fight to suppress them. I feel that tears would admit that she is gone, that it is now okay to grieve for my baby girl. I'm not ready for that yet, but there are moments when I can't hold them back. "I know you will find her," I say to him, as I withdraw my hand from over his. "I, uh, didn't ever mean for this to happen," he says. He breaks his focus on me, and chooses to stare at the ground. Guilt. He feels guilty for what happened to her. Perhaps he should. Don't let yourself go there, pointing fingers, trying to find someone to blame. Fox Mulder did not do this to your daughter. She remained loyal to this man even after they separated them. Her reasons are her own, not mine to question. I look over to Agent Mulder, sad to see him so lost. He doesn't look like he has slept in days. Neither have I. What he needs is a mother, someone to take him in their arms and tell him it will be all right. Someone to tell him to close his eyes and let go if only for a little while. I can't be that for him now. I cannot even convince myself to let go. So far I cannot sleep, knowing my daughter is out there. Agent Mulder looks away from Dana's necklace towards the sky, as if all the answers are going to be written there in the clouds for him. It is something learned with age and experience, knowing that the answers aren't always so easy to find. And sometimes the answer we receive is not what we wanted to hear, but we must learn to accept it. As I always told my children, God answers all your prayers, but sometimes the answer is 'no.' I watch him lean forwards, his face in his hands, and I know that he wants to cry as badly as I do. "It's okay. Go ahead," are the only words I say to him, as I put an arm around his shoulder. ************************* July 1999 "What is upsetting you so, Dana?" my mother asks, and I find that I cannot look her in the eye. I had what I was going to say planned out, carefully choosing each word so as not to give away too much information. Then I realized I had very little to give away. In the last day or so, my memory hasn't filled in all the missing pieces, hasn't given me the reasons why. Only one person can do that, and I haven't seen him since I left his apartment. He and I have been, perhaps by accident, alternating working and sick days, avoiding one more issue in our lives. "Mom, there are things that happened, a long time ago, right before my abduction, that apparently I. . ." I begin to say, not knowing yet how to go on. "That you what?" my mother asks, taking my hand into hers. "I apparently have been repressing certain memories of certain events that occurred right before my abduction," I say in one quick breath. "Bad things?" my mother asks cautiously. Bad? Good? Indifferent? I don't know the answer to that. Life changing, yes. Bad? Perhaps. Good? The jury is still out on that one. "Nothing life threatening, if that is what you mean by bad," I tell her, not wanting to cause her any more worry in this life than I already have. "Then what is it, Dana? It must be something big if it is bothering you this much," she asks, and I choose my next words cautiously. "It seems that I had, um, a relationship of sorts with someone right before I was taken, and I, um, have only begun to remember the details in the last few days," I say, sounding like a teenager admitting that they had sex in the back of the Dodge Dart. I can't make eye contact with her while I confess this. "You mean you don't remember an *intimate* relationship? How did you forget something like that?" my mother asks, her voice as non-judgmental as always. "I would have to guess that my brain had enough to deal with upon my return, and it just tucked this away until I was ready," I say. I don't want to go into a lengthy discussion of repressed memories right now. "Did Fox know about this relationship you had started?" she asks. "In a matter of speaking, I would have to say yes," I say. I know she is catching on, without having to be told. Or maybe she really did know the whole time. "And he never said anything to you?" she asks. "He tried, but he says that by the time he realized I didn't remember, he didn't know how to tell me," I say. "And he knows who this man is?" she asks me. Her voice tells me that me with certainty that she knows who this man is, too. "Yes." My mother is doing what she used to do to all of her children when we were young. She always asked questions, trying to get us to willingly divulge whatever information we might have been holding back. My mother is quite the expert at asking all the right questions. I can feel tears well up in my eyes, as I slowly begin to unravel. I haven't cried over this yet since I left Mulder's apartment, instead I've been trying to keep my emotions firmly in check. I want to be in control when I finally have to face Mulder again. We can't avoid each other forever. My mother wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. "It's okay. Go ahead," she whispers to me as I feel the tears begin to fall. ************************************* August 1994 Special Agent Fox Mulder weeps. And I would weep with him had I not wept a thousand tears already today. I know he is trying to keep everything together, but sometimes it all gets the better of you. "Tissue?" I ask, realizing all of a sudden how carrying around a travel package of tissues showed my age. I'm a widow. I cried exactly like this man did once, over losing Bill. I felt I had to keep it all together. For the children. For friends. Just until the funeral. I had a million reasons why I had to hold it all in. And then I wept for hours. I once cried like this. I cried for someone I didn't think I could live without. I cried for someone who I had willingly spent my life with. I cried for someone I . . . loved. I look over to Agent Mulder as he quietly removes a tissue from the package. He makes no attempt to use it just yet, as if he knows that the tears are going to start up again any time. "It's okay. You can use it. I'm a grandmother, so I have more. I probably even have some breath mints around if I looked really hard," I tell him, and he smiles slightly as he blots the tears from his eyes. "Scully, I mean Dana, hardly ever talks about her family," he says. That sounds like my daughter. She will let someone get incredibly close, yet manage to hold something back, as if she's protecting that part of her. "That will give the two of you something interesting to discuss when she gets back," I say, as I hand him another tissue. He makes a soft snorting sound at my last remark. I wonder what these two vastly different people did discuss during all the time they spent together? I know enough about Agent Mulder from Dana to know that he is the believer to her skeptic and that he sometimes frustrated her so much she'd call me from strange locales just to complain for half an hour. I never minded her calls and always told her to just go work it out. Maybe I should have told her to walk away, give up the FBI, get into medicine. Should've. Could've. Would've. They don't mean a damn thing right now. "Listen, Agent Mulder. . ." I start to say. "Call me Fox," he tells me. "Fox," I say. His red rimmed eyes meet mine and he nods his head. "Yes?" "I don't want you to blame yourself for this. Do you understand me?" I say, as if I'm speaking to an impetulant child. I can feel the guilt emanate from this man's being. He is going to take it all upon him self yet, and from the little I know about him, I don't know if he can take one more thing. He doesn't reply. I can see a million thoughts written across his face, and to not blame himself isn't one of them. "It is my fault," he says, his glance dropping away from me again. "So what if it is your fault, Fox? You still have to live. You have to go on. And you have to forgive yourself. If you love Dana as much as I think you do, you have to do it for her." ************************************************** July 1999 I can feel my mother's arms around me, and I want to sink into her. This is the safety that I need right now. I always thought of Mulder as safe, but I guess I was wrong. How could I have not known? "That man is Fox, isn't it?" she finally asks, as she pulls me closer to her. "Mmm hmm," I manage to mumble as I nod my head yes. "What is upsetting you more, Dana? The fact that it happened in the first place or the fact that he never told you after he realized you didn't remember?" she asks me, almost word for word what Mulder asked me the other day. I've had more time to think about it now. Although I can't believe it happened in the first place, can't believe I did something so out of character, the part that still upsets me more is he didn't tell me. I feel as if he took the six years of trust I had for him and threw them right out the window. If he could be so dishonest about this, how many other things has he omitted? I thought we were waiting for something, when in reality, I was the only one waiting, simply because I couldn't remember. "I don't know if I can trust him anymore, Mom. I don't know if I can continue working with Mulder, putting my life on the line for him," I say, as I feel the tears I'm struggling so hard to stop just well up again. "Dana, honey, look at me," she says, as she turns me towards her, "I don't know what his reasons or motivations might be, or why he did what he did, but is this what you want to throw this partnership away over? After everything you've been through?" I don't know how to answer. I want my mom to tell me everything is going to be all right, that I can cry all I want. I don't want her questioning my motivations, even if they might not be good ones. "But how can I go back there knowing that he knows such . . . such an intimate part of me? How can it ever be the same?" I ask, as she takes my hands into hers again. "Was it consensual?" my mother asks, and I feel my face burn with embarrassment. From the little I can remember, it was *beyond* consenual, with me taking control of a good portion of the action. "Yes," I mumble. "You are both adults, Dana. You both have worked together for many years now. Has it effected his job performance from what you can tell?" my mother asks me. "I don't know," I say, looking down at my feet. I really don't know. Maybe some of the things he has done in the past is because of him trying to protect me, and maybe that all stems from this one issue, "Mom, it's just so unlike me. I can't believe I did that, for no rhyme or reason. I just can't believe it. I feel so. . ." "You feel guilty?" she asks. I don't know why I would. I've had several intimate relationships, Jack Willis being the one that lasted the longest. "Yes," I say, "I feel as if it is my fault this happened in the first place. I feel guilty for crossing a line that should have never been crossed. Not back then." "So what if it is your fault, Dana? You made a mistake. He made a mistake. You have to forgive yourself and you have to forgive him. If you love Fox as much as I think you do, you aren't going to throw away everything over this." ************************************************ August 1994 I watch Fox Mulder gently play with the cross hanging from Dana's necklace, spinning it slightly on its own chain. It is now his only connection to her. I need no physical connections, no reminders of my love for her. I am her mother. I have a connection that no one else can share, and I have memories that are mine alone. "Fox, do you have someone in your life right now, that you can talk about this with?" I ask, as I watch the little cross I gave her so many years ago. He is hypnotized by it, and what ever memories or thoughts it conjures up. "Yeah. I'm okay," he says, as his eyes close, no longer paying attention to the cross or the world around him. Dana was in his life. That is who he talked to. I know that after she dated Jack Willis she said never again to dating people she had to work with. I never felt that she and Jack were right for each other, never felt the bond she apparently shares with the man sitting next to me. Funny how she could date someone for so long, yet not be nearly as close as it appears she is to this man who was simply. . . her . . . partner. I look at Fox Mulder, and watch him closely. He looks like a child, like someone who has lost his way. Someone who needs to be protected and cared for. And one of the best people in the world for protecting lost souls is Dana. Simply. Her. Partner. No. it couldn't be. She said she learned the hard way with Jack. She said it over and over. But look at this man next to me, looking as if he lost his puppy. His partner. His best friend. His . . . lover. I inhale a quick, sharp breath and he looks at me again. "Are you okay?" he asks, as he takes one of my hands in his. He must feel that now it is his turn to take care of the grieving mother. Or perhaps mother-in-law? "Yes. I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was just thinking," I say, as I pull my hand from his. "About?" Fox says. His tears are over for now, and he almost appears back in control. "Oh, about relationships. About how hard it is to let go sometimes. How hard it is to forgive those who leave before us," I say, wanting to know where he stands with my daughter. I want to know exactly how close he is to her, so I know how to include him into our family. He doesn't budge, doesn't supply any information easily. "There are things I should have said to her, things I would have done, if only I had known," he says. "Like what?" I ask. "I don't know. Like tell her how much I enjoyed working with her. How much I appreciated everything she put up with during all those cases we had. I should have at least put up her name on the office door," he says, not even remotely hinting at anything personal. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it doesn't go past the purely professional. "Well, Dana is quite capable on putting her own name on the door. I don't think she expected you to do it. If Dana wanted her name there, it would have been there. You can trust me on that one," I say, and watch his head droop down again, "What?" "Maybe she never wanted to be there," he says. "Listen, Fox. I can't be your therapist when it comes to my daughter. Not right now. I'm in as much pain about this as you are. When she gets back, you two are going to have to deal with what ever relationship you have. Then the two of you can work out the kinks of putting her name on an office door," I say in a sudden outburst, and watch him reel back from me. I stand to go, but he grabs my hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload all of this on you. It's just that I . . ." he starts to say, not able to finish his sentence. "Miss her? Oh, Fox. So do I. Trust me. So do I," I say, sitting back down beside him. "I just never expected it to hurt this much," he says. "No one ever does," I say to him, as we both just sit and watch the people go by, moving on with their lives while ours seem to be at a standstill. ****************************************** July 1999 "When was the last time you talked about this with Fox?" my mom asks. "This past weekend. I went to talk with him after I started to remember. I haven't seen him since," I say. We have avoided each other for a few days now, each taking turns calling in sick to work. "Dana, you need to think seriously about what it is you expect from him, and from yourself. You were a different person then, more open, more willing to trust, more willing to love. A lot has been taken from you since your abduction. A lot. You cannot blame that younger version of yourself for doing things *this* Dana wouldn't do. You have to forgive yourself, and you have to forgive Fox," she says, holding both my hands firmly in her own. "I don't know if I can forgive him," I say, looking away from my mother's eyes. "Why not?" my mother asks. "Because I always, somewhere deep inside, believed that he loved me. That when this was all over we could be together, and now . . ." I stop, not knowing what now brings. "Now you doubt his love for you? Dana, he loves you. I know what he was like when you were gone. I sat and watched him cry for you while clutching on to this, as if it were his lifeline," she says, as her fingers go to the cross around my neck. "He should have told me," I say quietly, as I cover the hand holding my cross with my own. "Yes, he should have. Now you feel as if something was taken away from you, as if a dream was shattered before it ever even began to take life. But it isn't, Dana. You two still have a future, just now you have a past to reconcile with, too. A lot of mistakes are made in any relationship, but if it is worth it, and I think this one is, you find a way to move forward," my mom says, her hand releasing my cross, her arms pulling me towards her. I rest my chin on her shoulder, and I feel the tears begin to fall again. It is worth it. I know that. I just need to think, to redefine what were my dreams for the future. . ******************************************** August 1994 "Fox, can I ask you something personal, about you and Dana?" I ask of the man sitting next to me. "I, well, yes," he stammers back, as a blush creeps up his face. I don't need to ask. He just answered any question I might have. "Did you ever discuss your feelings towards her with her?" I ask, not wanting to delve into my daughter's personal life too much. She is, after all, an adult. When she comes back, she will have to deal with how this man feels about her. "No. We rarely discussed things outside of work. I think she knew that I . . ." he stops mid-sentence, not knowing how much to divulge to me. "That you cared a great deal for her," I say, not wanting to put words of love into someone's mouth, even if I can clearly see how much he does love her. "Yes. A great deal," he says, his tired eyes closing in deep thought. I don't want to make assumptions about the status of their relationship, but I don't want to leave this man, who could possibly be my daughter's lover, out of any of the planning that may have to take place in the near future. If she doesn't come back, I know I will have to face the inevitable. I will have to plan my daughter's funeral. The mere thought of it weights heavily on my chest, crushing the breath out of me. "Fox, I think you need to reconcile how you feel about Dana, in case . . ." I start to say. "Don't even think it yet. She will be back. I promise you that. She has a future, here with us," he says, as he rises up from his seat, "I will keep in touch, okay? I'll let you know of any changes," "What are you going to do now?" I ask him. "I have to go somewhere, to the place her future, *our* future, was ripped from us," Fox Mulder says as he walks away. ********************************************* July 1999 "You need to talk to him, Dana. Tell him how you feel, and that you love him," my mother says. I look at her with shock. Love? Now? How could we discuss that now? "Mom, he lied to me, by not telling me. It is as if he was leading me on in a way, making me believe that we were waiting for something that had already happened," I say, still crying on her shoulder. "Maybe that is just how you perceive it, Dana. Maybe he is hurt, too. Hurt that you came back all those years ago, and forgot about a fledgling relationship. Forgot that you loved him," she says softly in my ear. "What difference does that make, Mom?" I ask, wondering who's side she is on. "Again, Dana, you need to talk to him. You two can't avoid each other forever. This was years ago, and you have worked together well since then. Just don't throw it all away now, okay," she tells me, still holding me close. "I have to go somewhere," I say, as I pull away from her hug, and stand up, "I have to get away and think." "Where are you going, honey?" she asks, as she takes hold of one of my hands. "To the place the future was changed," I say, pulling my hand from hers and walking away. ************* the end