Repressed IV
by Jori 

July 1999

The soft rapping on my door can only be one person. After a week of not speaking 
to each other, it looks like Mulder is the one making the first move. I wasn't 
ready for this, for him to be here. I was hoping we would run in to each other 
on neutral ground. But there is no such place. Any place either of us would be 
is either mine or his. The office doesn't even count as neutral. It is his. Says 
so on the door. 

This had to happen sooner or later. We are both running out of sick days. 

I open the door and he hands me a small package. He looks like he hasn't slept 
in days. I know he has been going to work. Just not on the days I'm there. On 
the days that I did show up, I could tell he was there because his coffee cup 
was moved. But besides that, he kept his presence quiet. 

"Peace offering?" he asks and I take it from his hand. The bag holds a snow 
globe, tacky and plastic. Inside is a miniature model of an Apollo rocket 
standing under the water. It looks like something you could buy at any gas 
station on the east coast of Florida. But this one more than likely came from 
the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. 

"Is there a reason?" I ask, knowing that he probably has no reason. He never 
does. 

"This month is the thirtieth anniversary of the Apollo 11 mission," he says, 
looking at me only briefly. Just long enough for me to look away. I know what he 
is trying to say. Five years have passed. Either we survive it and move on or 
let our partnership die from it. 

Was it that easy for him to move on all those years ago? Does he expect it to be 
that easy for me?

I shake it and watch the glitter float around and finally sink to the bottom. 
Kind of like this relationship. Then I look at him. I know the look on my face 
is not one of amusement. 

"It was either that or a model of the Spirit of St. Louis and I didn't want you 
to suspect that we did it in St. Louis. Or in an airplane. Or with a Jimmy 
Stewart movie playing on the TV," he says and for some reason that strikes me as 
funny. From now on, he will be far more selective of the gifts he gives me. 

"Did we?" I ask, trying to sound serious. 

He looks at me, puzzled. "I, um, don't . . . no," he stammers.

"I'm kidding. Come in," I say, letting him by. 

We nervously keep our distance from each other. This is almost insane. We are 
acting like two old lovers running into each other after not seeing each other 
for years, and not quite knowing what effect it has had on our lives. Instead, 
we just saw each other a few days ago. 

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask. He sits down on one of the side chairs 
while I sit down on the couch, an opposite seating arrangement from the other 
night. 

Silence hangs heavily between us, and I can feel him watching me. I cannot 
return his glance for more than a few seconds yet. I've spent the week preparing 
myself for this, yet somehow, it isn't the same now that the moment is here. 

"Do you want me to answer your question now, Scully," he asks, and my eyes 
finally meet his. I expect to find a smug grin on his face, or at least a look 
of amusement. Instead I find him looking as solemn as I've ever seen him, his 
hands gripping the arm of the chair as if this is as hard for him as it is for 
me. 

"No, Mulder. It's starting to come back to me. I don't need your view of the 
situation just yet," I lie, knowing full well that it hasn't all come back to me 
yet. I am hoping somehow we can get through this painlessly. Get through this 
and get back to the way it used to be. But is that what I really want? Now that 
I know we went that far before, could I just let us go there again? 

"I was lost without you," he says. I assume he means when I missing, not in this 
past week. 

"That still doesn't explain so many things, like why you never told me. What 
were you afraid of, Mulder?" I ask, hoping he has a logical explanation for the 
silence he has maintained for so many years. 

"Afraid of?" he asks. 

"I need to know what you felt when I came back, I need to know how you feel now. 
This can't go on, Mulder. We can't run from the past and pretend it never 
happened anymore," I say to him, and watch as his eyes shift from mine, 
uncomfortable with this line of questioning. 

"When you came back, I was ecstatic and angry and then I discovered I was lost. 
I was happy you were alive. I was angry that whatever happened to you had 
happened, and lost . . . because I couldn't help you," he says, not mentioning 
anything that I already didn't know. 

"But what did you *want* from me? What did you hope would happen when I woke up 
out of that coma, when you came to see me?" I ask, remembering once again him 
handing me that video and then placing my cross in my hand. My hand goes up to 
my neck and covers the tiny piece of gold dangling from the chain. 

"I wanted . . . for everything to be better. For things to just return to 
normal," he says, our eyes finally meeting for more than a second. 

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

December 1994

"Hi! What are you doing here?" she asks as she opens the door.

"I just came by to see how you were doing, if you needed anything," I say to 
Scully, and she waves me into her apartment. 

She is looking much better than she did the last time I saw her in the hospital 
and I know she has considered returning to work in the next couple of days. I 
want her to take more time, but during all our phone calls, she keeps telling me 
she needs to get back to work and get her life back. 

I wanted to see if she was in any condition to return to work. And I'm curious 
about how much of her life she wants back. 

Scully smiles at me, her face still slightly swollen from whatever they did to 
her. I don't care. She is still beautiful. I watch as she self-consciously pulls 
her bathrobe tighter around her, and reties the belt more securely. I don't know 
why she would be shy now. I've seen all of her before, but that isn't what I'm 
here for. She should know that. After everything that has happened to her, I 
would never ask that of her. Besides, I made a deal with myself. If she came 
back it can't happen again. 

Maybe she is just self-conscious, after everything that had been done to her. 
Afraid to be exposed again. 

"My mother and my sister have been taking care of me. I finally gave them the 
day off, so I could get a little alone time in before returning to work," Scully 
says as she sits down on her couch. I don't know exactly where to go, so I sit 
down next to her. She moves over slightly, but enough for me to notice. 

I know she has been to hell and back, but it is only me. I don't know why she is 
acting so nervous in my presence. 

"Am I disturbing you? I can go and we can talk later," I say as I go to stand 
up. She puts her hand over my arm and tugs me back down. 

"No. This is fine. I'd like for you to stay," she says, and I smile. I've missed 
her so much. 

"So, did you, um, get to watch your Super Bowl video," I ask sheepishly, knowing 
that if anything brings up that night we spent together, that will. 

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't. It came home in one of the boxes of gifts from the 
hospital and I haven't seen it since," she says to me, her eyes not even showing 
the tiniest spark of emotion at the mention of that video. 

Something is wrong. She doesn't want it to ever happen again. But to pretend it 
never happened? That just isn't Scully. 

"Scully, what do you remember from before your abduction?" I ask hesitantly.

"Right before it? Not much besides Duane Barry. Before that, I do remember that 
the X-Files were closed, and I had been reassigned to Quantico. And you had a 
new partner. What was his name?" she asks, not even coming close to what I'm 
curious about. 

"Krycek," I say. She doesn't even know everything about him yet. 

"Yes. Now I remember. Those are some of the last clear memories I have," she 
says. 

"Anything else?" I ask, putting my hand over hers. She tenses, as if she is 
unfamiliar with my touch. 

"I remember feeling better than I do right now. I remember . . . that things 
were going to be okay," she says, as she moves her hand from under mine. 

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

July 1999

"Are things going to be okay?" I ask Mulder. "Are we going to be okay?"

He did not do this to me. He did not erase my memories or steal periods of my 
life away. He is guilty of one thing. And the sin of omission is just as bad as 
what they did to me. The opportunity was always there. He should have said 
something right away. No senseless gifts. No half clues. No hiding in the 
shadows of forgotten memories. 

"Nothing has to change, Scully. We are still the same people we were last week, 
before all of this happened. Nothing is different," he says. He settles back 
into the chair, getting comfortable. I still can't be comfortable in his 
presence. He knows me in a way I don't know him, and right now I despise that 
fact. 

"But it is different. It will always be different from now on. We aren't the 
same people we were just a week ago. Look at us! We couldn't even manage to make 
it to work on the same days this week. Yet nothing will change?" I ask him. The 
anger that I've been trying to hold back is starting to bubble up again. 

"Everything will be fine," he says in a tone so sincere I wish I could believe 
him. 

"I want to believe that, Mulder. I would love to be so sure of what we might be 
tomorrow or the next day. But I don't even know what we were before. I can't 
remember it, dammit! Why didn't you tell me!" I shout, getting off the couch and 
moving away from his presence as quickly as I can. 

He bolts out of his chair and follows me. This apartment isn't big enough to 
escape him or the past. He grabs my arm and spins me around, pulling me to him, 
crushing me in his embrace. 

"Do you want to remember it? Do you?" he says, holding me so tight I can feel 
his heartbeat pulse through my body. It is going as fast as mine, combining as 
one solitary beat between us. "Is it coming back to you, Scully? If I make love 
to you now, will it all come back to you?" 

I don't know which way I want to turn. I want it all to come back to me. I want 
all that lost time back. I want the hurt to go away. But like this? Will this 
answer all my questions? Fill in the blanks?

"I don't know," I say, tears beginning to fill my eyes.

"I missed you so much, I could have died. I bargained with God or Satan or who 
ever would listen that if you came back, I'd never do this again. The punishment 
for making love to you just once was too severe. No matter how much I wanted you 
. . . all these years . . ." he starts to say before his voice fades away. He 
says nothing for a while. Just holds me. "You think I haven't wanted to? I spent 
so much time wishing you'd remember and come back to me. And now you do remember 
and it is worse than I ever imagined."

"I *know* what happened . . . but I don't remember, Mulder. But I do know that 
what happened to me wasn't a punishment for what ever might have transpired 
between us. It is not your fault. It never was," I say to him, and he tips his 
head toward mine so our foreheads are together. 

It all feels so familiar. Having him this close. This is a person I've spent 
almost every day with for years. A person I know I can trust with my life. A 
person who would never betray me without good reason. 

Images begin to swirl in my head. Mulder held me then and I wanted to be there. 
I was able to hold him back, able to love him without worry of what tomorrow 
might bring. He and I were so much younger. Not in years, but in experience. It 
was so much easier then because we just didn't know. 

"I never told you way back when I first realized you didn't remember. . . 
because I was afraid . . . afraid that you would come back to me and it would 
happen again. They would take you again," he whispers to me. "Look at what 
happened not too long ago. I went to kiss you and they took you away. I love you 
too much for that to ever happen again."

I move my face away from his and look into his eyes. I want to remember. I want 
to know what I once knew. How it feels to kiss him. What it feels like to hold 
him. To feel his heart race even more than it is now. I always thought I had to 
wait for all those things. But I don't. 

"That's not why they did it, Mulder," I tell him, not so sure that is true. I 
have always been their best weapon against him. But that has to end. They have 
too much control over our lives. 

"They do it because they can, Scully."

It can all start over right here. Right now. Old memories can be replaced. 
Forgotten memories can remain forgotten. We can't ever be what we were then. We 
can only be this. And 'they' don't matter right now.

"I don't want you tell me what happened in the past, Mulder," I say to him, and 
I feel him begin to release me from his arms. His eyes cloud over with a sadness 
with a depth like I've never seen before. 

"Okay," he says quietly, trying to move away from me. But I don't let him. 

"I want you to show me."

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

December 1994

I hand her a cup of hot tea and she stirs the sugar at the bottom of the cup and 
then she sets the spoon on the edge of the saucer with deliberate precision. I 
can't help but watch her and everything she does. Each tiny action is a miracle. 
She shouldn't be here. 

Perhaps 'God' listened to me beg this time and returned her to me, but I find 
that hard to believe. Someone arranged her return and it certainly wasn't her 
God. 

"So . . ." she says, setting down her tea and covering herself up with the 
blanket she retrieved from her bedroom. 

"So . . ." I say back, not really knowing what to say next. Do I tell her? 
Remind her in some subtle way that our relationship had changed drastically 
right before this happened. 

What purpose would it serve? She doesn't want to go back to there and I can't 
let us go back there. 

"I'm really sorry I don't remember more about what happened to me, Mulder. 
Occasionally an image flashes through my mind, but it is a feeling more than 
anything visual. A feeling of being alone somewhere yet at the same time, I'm 
not alone. I can't describe it," she says. 

Scully has been asked so many times over the last few weeks and she still 
doesn't remember how she got back and into that hospital. She doesn't know where 
she was. She looks disappointed that she can't supply me with all the answers. 

"Maybe someday you will remember again," I say, knowing that my words have more 
layers to them then she might realize. 

She looks away from me and focuses on her cup of tea. Maybe she does remember. 
What would be worse? What if she does remember and she doesn't want it to ever 
happen again? What if she realized she made a mistake? I don't want to be a 
mistake.

"So, what went on at work while I was . . . gone?" she asks as she moves to pick 
up her tea again. She blows steam away from the top and takes a sip. Her eyes 
are filled with curiosity and concern.

And what did I do, Scully? I wandered around aimlessly trying to figure it all 
out. I didn't go to work unless they called me. I didn't go down into the 
basement until I had to. 

And I ended up on a case the led me to the arms of another. 

How could I ever explain that to her? Maybe it is better that she never 
remembers. She was barely gone and I found another. 

"Nothing happened while you were gone," I answer her. "It was quiet."

"And how were you while I was gone?" she asks, her eyes narrowing. I've yet to 
answer this questions. This isn't supposed to be about me. She is the one who 
needs to recover. But maybe I do, too. 

What do I answer? That I was lost? That there were days I couldn't move from my 
couch except to get up and take a piss and then come right back? That daylight 
hurt because I didn't know if you would feel that warmth again but the night 
hurt more because that is where you could be for forever. Somewhere in the dark. 
And it scared me. 

Does she want to know that I wouldn't allow myself to cry after I went to 
Skyland Mountain right after she was abducted? If I did, I was afraid I'd never 
be able to stop. And I tried to forget that we made love, but I just couldn't?

Should I tell her that minutes and hours were longer without her? Days lasted 
for weeks and weeks lasted for months. Does she want to know these things? 

She doesn't remember. Why would she care about these things? Those are things a 
lover cares about. 

"I missed you," is all I answer. She smiles a little and pulls her blanket 
tighter around her. "Besides that . . ." 

"So, tell me what I missed?"

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

July 1999

He's pulling me along with him toward my bedroom and I can feel my heart 
pounding through the very fabric of my being. So many times before this could 
have happened but didn't. It is as if I have been freed of everything that told 
me this is wrong. Just because it happened before. 

And just because in the last few days I learned that I love him. 

"Do you remember?" he asks. We are standing outside of my bedroom door and he 
places a kiss on my forehead. His thumbs are stroking the curves of my 
cheekbones. I look at him and even though he is pushing me forward he looks 
apprehensive, as if I'm a snake ready to strike out at him at any moment. 

"You remember everything?" I ask, knowing that it is a foolish question. He 
always remembers everything. Why would he forget this? 

"This isn't about what I remember," he whispers, his lips brushing slightly 
across mine. "This isn't about the past at all."

This time he kisses me with a kiss not of a brother or friend or partner. No, 
this can only be the kiss of a lover. Somehow, we manage to walk to the bed 
without ever breaking that kiss and it only ends when he push backwards onto the 
bed. I am under him and I know from the look in his eyes that I am safe. That 
this is something he wants. 

But more importantly, this is something I want. 

The next kiss is even more frenetic than the first; so carnal, so impassioned. 
He tastes different than I imagined and his mouth feels different than I 
imagined. He tastes and feels better than he did in any dream I may have ever 
had. My body burns under his, and I no longer care that he remembers this and I 
don't. I will remember this. 

I slip my hands in between us, wanting to feel him. I pull down the zipper on 
his jeans and he sighs with relief as he is freed from the denim material. 

Somehow he moves us so I am on top of him, straddling his hips and looking down 
at him, watching his eyes. Suddenly, long lost images dart through my brain of 
the first time. The memories rush in and I try to keep them separate from what 
is happening right now. I was above him way back then. His eyes were filled with 
surprise and desire. Did he love me then the way he does now? 

What happened next or rather what should happen next? His fingers begin to undo 
the buttons on my cardigan and soon he is sliding it down my arms. I throw it to 
the side of the bed and that is soon followed by my bra. He urges me to bend 
forward and his tongue circles a nipple with such deliberation that I want to 
scream for more. I grind down on him and he lets out a throaty moan, hungry for 
more. I made Mulder moan just by being me. I cannot allow myself to ever forget 
that sound. 

I stand up and remove the rest of my clothes. He never takes his eyes off of me. 
Are these memories replacing the older ones, or are both just as precious to 
him? Naked, I get back on the bed and help him finish getting undressed. Soon we 
are both bare and more memories flood my brain. We were so much younger. So less 
damaged then. But this is better. There is no way I could have loved him then as 
much as I do now. 

I am on my back as his tongue traces a slow line down my neck before focusing on 
my breasts. His fingers move tenderly over my body, as if he is trying to 
remember every line of my form again. Just in case. 

"Nothing is going to happen to me," I say, reassuring him. 

"I won't ever let anything happen to you again," he says. 

"I know," I tell him. He moves lower, his tongue searching for more. He moves in 
between my thighs and places fluttery kisses down my abdomen until he reaches 
his goal. 

I can't keep my hips from bucking as he makes contact with my sex. He shifts in 
closer while his tongue swirls around me and his lips tug just right. This 
happened before. Hazy memories of him doing this have returned in the last week. 
I was embarrassed at first, but now I no longer am. 

He finds just he right rhythm and I try to hold on to the comforter to keep from 
from floating right off this bed. How could I not remember this? Someone must 
have taken those memories from me somehow, because I can't image forgetting any 
other way. 

Soon, I can no longer keep my eyes open as my whole body shudders with pleasure. 
He crawls back up the bed and I half expect to find a smug smile on his face 
when I open my eyes. I don't. It is nothing but a look of pure love. 

"I'd give you back everything you've lost if I could, Scully. If I could go back 
and do it over, I'd tell you what happened. And then I would make you leave me 
forever," he says to me, his voice barely a whisper. 

"No," I say. "I wouldn't have gone."

We watch each other closely. How did we ever get to this point? One of us should 
be dead by now. And then there is always that question that hangs over us. What 
are they going to do to us next?

"I'd give you the stars and the moon if I could, Scully," he says as I pull him 
to me again. 

"I know."

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

December 1994

'You didn't miss much," I lie. She doesn't need to be bothered with that now. I 
am here because of her. Not because of me. 

"I'd like to thank you for everything, Mulder. Especially for taking the time to 
talk to my mom during it all. I really appreciate it," she says. She sets down 
her empty tea cup and I move to get her more.

"I like your mother, Scully. She's nice and straightforward. She's everything my 
mother can't ever be," I say, sitting back down and handing her another cup of 
herbal tea. 

"She likes you," Scully says with a smile. "And she calls you Fox no matter what 
I say."

I smile at her. She yawns and apologizes. 

"You are tired. I shouldn't be here, especially if you really plan on returning 
to work in the next few days. You need your rest," I say, going to get up again. 


"No. Stay," she says, reaching for my hand. 

Those are the words I said to her only a few months ago. But the reasons they 
were said were so different then. I was the one who was lonely then. Is she 
lonely now? Maybe she is just scared. Or maybe she does remember. I sit back 
down and she lets go of my hand. 

"Mom and Melissa will be back soon. I'm sure they would love to see you again," 
she says. She looks at the clock and then at me. 

My heart can't decide whether to be broken or not. 

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

July 1999

He is over me and a part of me cannot believe this is happening. Or happening 
again, apparently. He slips in and out of me with the sweet familiarity that 
only comes with time and trust and love. How many times have the images of the 
first time come rushing into his brain? Every time he looks at me? How about 
when I was dying? 

"Don't," he says, knowing exactly what I'm thinking. "This is the first time for 
both of us, okay?"

I nod my head yes and allow myself to feel everything around me. I match him 
thrust for thrust, my hips rising up to meet his. I know I can't climax again 
like this, but that isn't what this about. I don't want to move now. I want to 
be able to see him and watch his eyes. 

He has other things in mind. He moves so we are on our sides, and he continues 
to thrust into me, desperate for release. His fingers touch my clitoris and I 
stifle a moan. The feeling of him inside of me while his fingers stroke me is 
enough to bring me back to the edge again.

I watch his face as he drives into me harder. I can only imagine how many other 
women he's been with since the last time. Somehow, I know I couldn't have been 
the last. I know how attractive he is to quite a few women. I've watched them 
around him. And I know he wasn't the last. How come I couldn't have forgotten 
that incident and remembered the one time with Mulder? 

"Scully?" he asks me, shaking me back to the present. It doesn't matter who 
we've been with. We are together now. 

"What?" I ask, closing my eyes and concentrating on all the sensations traveling 
through my body. 

"Come for me, Scully. I want to see your face while you do it," he says and I 
open my eyes. 

"Not without you," I say, grinding against his hand as much as I can. He stops 
moving and he just smiles at me. 

"That is what you said the last time I asked you to come for me. Those exact 
same words," he says, as he begins moving again, more slowly this time. 

Maybe I haven't changed as much as I thought I have. Maybe there is something in 
me that still remains from that naive, trusting soul I was back then. 

I can tell he is close by the soft whimpering sounds he begins to make. He is 
trying to hold back, waiting for me. Was he like this the first time? Was he 
this patient and concerned? 

Just thinking of what we are doing . . . of who I am with . . . pushes me to 
that chasm of pleasure again and I can feel my body begin to tremble again. 

"Yesss. . ." hisses out of me as this orgasm travels through from my core to 
every cell in my body. Within seconds, he is following me to that place, and I 
feel his warm release fill my body. 

"Ohhhh," is all he manages to say as his all his muscles contract and quiver. 

Then all is still. He rests his head on my breast and I touch his face. How 
could either one of us ever forget this? 

"Mulder, I don't need the stars or the moon because I have you," I whisper to 
him. 

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

December 1994

My punishment didn't end when they took her. I now continues with the knowledge 
that I love her and she does not love me back. I thought she did but now I'm not 
sure. I can never be as sure as I was that one night ever again. 

"It will be nice to return to work again. To get out of here," Scully says, 
looking around her apartment. "As glad as I am to be home, being cooped up in 
here all day does get old. My mother says you paid my rent while I was gone. I 
will pay you back for that as soon as I get back to work."

"No," I say to her. I did it for reasons she will now never understand. Because 
I couldn't let her go. Because I wanted her back so bad I refused to believe 
anything else. "You don't have to do that, Scully. I'm just glad you are back 
home."

"It's good to be back," she says, looking away from me.

I don't know what to say to her next. I am now the sole bearer of this secret we 
once shared. And I am too scared to tell her. I just got her back. I don't want 
to lose her again. 

"I really should be going," I say, wanting so much to pull her into my arms and 
hold her forever. Instead, she stands up and waits for me. She wishes for me to 
go, too. Scully needs her rest. It has nothing to do with me. 

She walks me to the door and I finally hug her. She holds on to me briefly and I 
place a kiss on her forehead before she moves away. 

"I'll see you at work later this week," she says, and puts her a finger up to 
shush me when I go to protest. 

"I'll see you later this week," I say as I slip out the door. 

I leave her building without looking back and get in my car. It is only then 
that I allow the tears to flow freely again after all this time. 

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

July 1999

Mulder holds me as if he is afraid I'll slip away from him in the middle of the 
night. I'm not leaving him even though he told me last time I did. First of all, 
I don't want to. Second of all, this time this is my apartment. 

We are wrapped up in the sheets and blankets even though it is a hot summer 
night, simply enjoying the warmth of each other. I love the feel of his body 
this close to mine, the feel of the hard lines and angles that make up him next 
to the soft curves that make up me. All this damn time wasted. If only I would 
have remembered. 

"Will you ever forgive me?" he asks, breaking our silence that has lasted for 
over an hour. "I know you are still angry that I didn't say anything."

"Yes, I am. But I think for different reasons than you are imagining. I guess 
what I regret most is the lost time. I can't get it back, Mulder. We can't get 
it back," I say, snuggling in closer to him. 

"Can we go on from here? Is this just a one time . . . rather a two time thing?" 
he asks. I can feel him kiss the top of my head so tenderly. 

"Barring any abductions, disappearances or severe illnesses, I don't think this 
is it," I say and he sighs gently. 

"You don't know how hard it was, Scully. I didn't know what to do," he says, 
explaining once again. 

"Mulder, it is okay. We will just go on from here," I say. I roll over, propping 
myself up on my elbows and looking at him. His eyes are the most content I've 
seen them in years. We are both free from the ties that have been binding us. 

"Can I stay here tonight?" he asks, and he sounds like he expects me to throw 
him out. 

"Yes you can, if you answer one question for me," I say, and he looks hesitantly 
at me. 

I reach for the snow globe I put on my night table and I shake it. The glitter 
seems to stay up longer this time before it lands on the miniature rocket. I 
give it another shake before putting it down. 

"What question?" he asks, waiting for my question.

"Was it . . . better this time?" I ask and he answers me by rolling us over and 
pressing his lips to mine. 

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

The end of the Repressed series