Again and Again Forever

By Ewa
ewa@whatewa.com


RATING:  PG 13
CATEGORY:  S
SPOILER: After Closure but before anything else  
KEYWORDS: M /A M/S R

SUMMARY: How much in life is decision and how much
fate?


DISCLAIMER: any characters you recognize belong to Mr. Carter & Co; others
belong to me but I share.  I will return them in pristine condition.
(Well almost!)

THANKS to Leslie, without whose help as a beta reader, this would only be
half of what it is. Thanks for your time and effort Leslie!

ARCHIVES: Let me know where it's gone please!

Feedback please, I NEED to know what you think!



See my stories at www.whatewa.com


AGAIN AND AGAIN FOREVER


He arched in agony as his arm was palpitated.  The pain helped him to
focus on his surroundings; bring him back from the ether in which he had
been floating. Besides his arm, which hurt like hell, he had the mother of
all headaches, and he ached all over.

Now that he was more focused he realised that he was in ER. The doctor was
saying something to him.

"Sir, Can you tell me your name?"

He was just about to answer...What *was* his name?  He couldn't remember,
but he didn't feel too bothered about this fact.

Drowsily he replied "Dunno, can't 'member."

He heard the doctor say to someone "Great, we just needed another John Doe
in tonight!"


The pain was mind-blowing; he felt his grasp on reality loosen, felt
himself falling into darkness.


The next voice he heard was feminine.  "Hello, are you okay?"

He tried to turn his head, he groaned, and his eyes fluttered open.

"It's all right," she said, shining the light into his eyes. He squinted
against the bright light and raised the arm that hurt less protectively
over his eyes.

"Damn, that's bright," he grumbled. "Can't you aim it somewhere else?"

She shifted the light away from his face. "Sorry,"  she said. "How are you
feeling?"

He felt like saying "Fine", but he knew he wasn't.

"Not sure," he muttered, trying to roll and sit up.  Not a good idea, he
thought.

"Hold it, Cowboy, not so fast," she warned, as he shut his eyes again and
sank back down, trying to control the wave of nausea that threatened.
"Your head has had a nasty brush with a bullet;  fortunately it won't
spoil your looks. You've managed to break your arm as well. What happened
to you?"
 
He glanced away. "I don't remember," he mumbled after a moment. "Who are
you?" He looked at the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman beside him. Somehow
this was not right. He was expecting someone else, someone...

"I'm Josephine Quentin," she volunteered.  "I'm your nurse for this shift.
You can call me Jo."

He winced as he tried to flex the fingers of his now plastered, broken
arm. "God that hurts!"

With a groan he tried to sit up again, only to feel Jo's restraining hand
on his shoulder. "My head aches like hell."

"How did you get here?" Jo asked. "Were you in a fight?"

He shook his head and then swore under his breath.  God the pain! His
brain felt as if it'd been used as a punch bag. The movement made him
nauseous.

"I don't know. Where am I?"

He peered into the gloom that surrounded them.  He seemed to know from the
layout that he was in a hospital room. He had a feeling that he'd spent a
lot of time either here or somewhere similar.

She told him the name of the hospital, but he was none the wiser.

He could feel himself getting more and more anxious. He didn't think he
liked hospitals. He felt his breathing accelerate and the feeling of panic
threaten to overcome him. He heard the voice deep in his head.

"Come on, it's okay. Deep slow breaths."  He found this familiar voice
very reassuring.

He looked around the room. He had the impression that something or someone
very important to him, should be there, but wasn't. He felt too woozy from
the anesthetic he must have been given to work out what it was that was
missing.
 
He slumped back against the pillows.

"They found you wandering about, outside the hospital," Jo told him. "When
they brought you in, you had no ID on you. Nothing to even give us a clue
as to where you could be from."
 
She added. "As soon as you're up to it, local cops will want to interview
you to ascertain if a crime has been committed." He shut his eyes; right
now he couldn't care less.

Fear bubbled up inside him. What if he were in some serious kind of
trouble? He might still be in danger and he'd never know it. He had a
feeling that he *was* in danger; but from what? Still the feeling that
something was missing! Some integral part of him wasn't there. He analyzed
this for a moment; it wasn't his memory, it was something far more
important.  He felt as though he'd been abandoned.  Suddenly it came to
him. It wasn't something, but *someone*. Someone who should be here with
him, caring for him. Someone without whom he felt totally lost.

Nervously he looked around. Then another thought chilled him. What if he'd
hurt someone? What if he were a fugitive on the run? NO. He rejected the
idea as quickly as it took shape. He knew that wasn't him.

He tried to penetrate the darkness that surrounded him like a thick
blanket of fog, but it expanded around him, threatening to suck him in.
Pain lanced through him. It was no good. He couldn't remember.

His stomach heaved, sending bile into his throat and making his head spin.

"You okay?" Jo asked. "You feel sick? Try to hold on a moment I'll get you
a bowl."

His stomach rolled more alarmingly than before, and he had to swallow hard
to keep from disgracing himself. Hell, why did he always have to react to
anesthetics like that? He knew that much about himself.  Gradually he felt
his stomach settle a little.

Jo said. "I'll just get you something to ease the nausea and help you
relax a bit.

His head pounded as he tried to delve into his memory. He felt dizzy every
time he tried to move his head.  Again, the feelings of helplessness and
frustration washed over him. His hands shook. He clenched them to his
side, only to immediately regret it as pain shot through his right arm.
His head throbbed abominably. He sensed that on the other side of the
black void lay something that he didn't want to face, but he was damned if
he could get any sort of fix on it. He shut his eyes in concentration. He
heard Jo coming back with the medication.  He was glad that it didn't take
long to kick in. He still hurt, but now he didn't seem to care.

He must have drifted off to sleep for some time, because when he woke up
Jo wasn't there, in her place was a young fair-haired girl.

She looked as if she should be in high school, he thought to himself.
"Must be getting old!"

"Pardon, did you say something? Can I get you anything?"

" Um yes, I need to use the phone. I've gotta reach..." It had gone. He
knew it was important, just out of reach, but he couldn't get hold of the
memory.  He felt his eyes fill with tears as the memory evaded him. He saw
the concern on her face.
 
She gently touched his cheek. "It's okay ," she said.  "It *will* come
back you know."  It was all he could do not to wrench his face away from
her hand. He knew she had meant to be kind, but he couldn't bear anyone
touching him like that. No one but... the feeling of great loss
overwhelmed him.

He hadn't bothered with the phone. Instead he lay in bed trying to come to
terms with the fact he could remember nothing about himself. Was he
married? He looked down at his left hand; no wedding band, no pale mark
where a ring might have been. That didn't mean anything. Maybe he'd never
worn one.

Could he have been a priest, a minister? No, somehow that didn't sit
right. A believer of sorts yes, but not a man of the cloth. He did feel he
had a vocation, some sort of driving force, but what?  There was someone
special in his life, someone he had expected to be here with him. Who?

All this speculation was making his headache worse.  He tried to think
about his parents. This train of though only served to make him feel very
agitated. He tried to picture his mother's face, her voice, but nothing
came through except a feeling of dread. What sort of a son was he, who
couldn't remember his own mother?  He was beginning to feel drowsy again
as the Tylenol #3 the young nurse had given him kicked in.




She was there, the light was dim, the room around them in shadows, he
could hardly make out her face or her dark hair. He could smell her
perfume, something flowery and familiar from his childhood. There was
music in the background. He didn't recognize it but somehow knew it was
her favorite.

 "You've got to promise me", she said in a voice of steel. "Promise me
you'll do that."  He didn't answer, nearly choking on the sorrow that
clogged his throat. She squeezed his shoulder hard.

"Promise me," she repeated.

He heard his little boy voice reply, "I promise Mom, I promise I'll find
her for you."

Suddenly the room was full of light. He blinked against the brightness and
saw Jo standing in the doorway.

"Are you okay? You were having a bad dream. I could hear you shouting down
the hallway."

He raked his good hand through his hair, struggling to get his bearings
and to remember the snatches of dream, which were already fading. He felt
moisture on his face and felt embarrassed as he realised it was tears.
"I'm okay," he said. "Thanks."

She backed out of the door. "I'll bring you a drink,"  she said. "I'll
give you a few minutes."

"I'll be all right," he told her as she shut the door behind her. He tried
to hold on to the bits of the strange dream that floated in his head like
brightly coloured scraps of paper before a wind, but all he could remember
was a woman's voice.
 
"Promise me," she kept repeating.
 
When Jo returned with the drink he sucked it down as if it were plasma and
he a vampire. That's a strange metaphor, he thought. Yet somehow it felt
really 'him'.

He could kill for some sunflower seeds!  Was his memory returning?  He
asked Jo if she could get him some, and she promised she'd try, even
though it was an odd request.  She told him an officer would be along
presently to interview him. The sooner they could work out what had
happened and who he was, the sooner they could discharge him. His eyes lit
up.

"Hold your horses," she said. "It'll be a while before you to go anywhere.
We can't just let you loose on the street in the condition you're in."

The cop that came to interview him looked like a rookie.

"I can't find anything to indicate who you might be.  No one matching your
description has been reported missing or is wanted for anything that I can
see."  The law enforcement officer continued, "The only other thing I can
do is to take your fingerprints and see if they're on file anywhere, but
that might take a while."

"You mean find out if I have a criminal record?" He had gut feelings about
certain things, and not trusting the police department was one of them.
When did I get to be so paranoid? He felt so vulnerable, lying in this
hospital bed.  He knew that he couldn't trust anyone. No, there was one
person he trusted with his life! But who was it? Was she looking for him?
Were his family worried about him? Instinctively he knew that was not the
case. Yet he must have someone to care about him; he must.  Suddenly he
stopped. Why had he though *she*?

"There are a lot of different reasons," the cop was saying. He realised
that he'd not been listening.  "They would tell us if you've been in the
military, or held some kind of government job. It would be a start."

He tried to focus on the what the cop was saying.

"Is it voluntary?" he'd asked the uniformed man.

"At this point," he replied.

An intense feeling of claustrophobia washed over Him. He realised that he
wasn't ready to deal with this yet. In the end he had agreed very
reluctantly. He felt he was putting himself in danger and had nobody to
watch out for him.

The interview had lasted over an hour, and afterwards he felt as though
he'd been put through a wringer, and all for nothing. He could remember
nothing. The harder he tried the worst it became.  The only thing was that
now he was certain of *her* in his life. Someone so very important; so
very special to him and he knew nothing about her at all.




Another day passed and with it came a slight improvement in his condition.
His vision did not blur as often, and with the help of a male nurse he had
managed to get to the bathroom. It had been hard going. His head hurt so
much he nearly upchucked his last meal, but all in all he'd managed both
to use the facilities without parting company with his dinner.


He was a day nearer going home-wherever home was? He couldn't discharge
himself 'Against medical advice'. He had nowhere to go, no one to go to.
Presently a doctor came to see him. He explained about the condition.

"With amnesia," he said; "Your memory could come back all at once, with no
warning, or little by little in a series of flashbacks." He made some
notes on his pad.  "Have you had any of those", he'd asked.

"It's been more like vague impressions, feelings;  I don't feel as though
I have a family, yet..." He suddenly remembered his dream. The woman had
been his mother! He found the doctor studying him without comment.

"Rest now and we'll talk more tomorrow."

Sleep; maybe tomorrow would bring some answers, he told himself

Sleep only brought nightmares!  Another woman was there, a tall woman with
longish dark hair and dark eyes. Fragments of arguments floated through
his head. But he couldn't make out who was the instigator. There was anger
but sadness, too. He tried to work out what his connection was to this
woman. He felt he knew her well. Images faded in and out. Scenes of the
two of them talking, walking. Waking up next to her. It all felt so
distant. There had been some kind of break between them, he was sure of
that. He couldn't remember. He did not trust her; she'd betrayed him!
She'd hurt him.

There was another woman. He could not see her face, but it didn't matter.
He felt her comforting presence. She would protect him, guard his back,
die for him if necessary.

He woke up in a cold sweat, screaming.

Jo came running in to him. He was shaking.

"Are you okay?" she asked.  "You've had a nightmare. You were screaming
for 'Diana.' Is she your wife? Is she family?"

He shivered and suddenly hoped to God that she wasn't.

The nurse finally managed to calm him down. He lay in the bed with the
soft light she'd left on for him.

He was so afraid. And then the sense of nagging dread returned. And with
it the pleading voice from the earlier dream. What had he promised?  And
why did he not want to remember?

He just needed the other woman in his dreams, the one that had shielded
him from the dark-haired one. It was all too much for him. He needed her
so very much. Tears wet his cheeks and dampened his pillow. Finally he
slept.

He spent the following day wallowing in self-pity.  He couldn't watch TV
as the flickering screen gave him a terrible headache. He tried to get out
of bed and walk around a bit, but he still suffered from vertigo a lot of
the time. Shit! He was in a hell of a mess. How was he ever going to get
out of here?




The answer to that question came very early the next morning, in the form
of a diminutive fireball who had blue eyes to die for. She blazed a trail
into his room with a tall, bald headed, be-speckled man in her wake.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Someone so small couldn't possibly be
emitting so much energy; she looked royally pissed-off with him! What had
he done this time? he asked himself. Then he wandered why he'd asked
himself that in the first place.  The authoritative man next to her didn't
look pleased either.

But he could trust her implicitly. Where had that knowledge come from?

"If you ever do that to me again, Mulder," she all but screamed at him; "I
will personally kick your ass from here into the middle of next week. DO
YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes", he said feebly; automatically. But he didn't.  Not at all. What had
he done? Yet somehow he knew she had every right to be so upset with him.
He didn't understand who these people were. One thing was for certain. He
was not on their top flavor of the month list.  He had a premonition that
he was however, top of a lot of people's shit list.

Mulder! Was that his name? Sounded a bit strange to him.He looked at the
tall be-speckled man for confirmation. This man seemed to know him too.

The commotion had brought the doctor and a nurse into his room. These two
demanded to know who the newcomers were. Names were exchanged, badges
flashed.  Agent Dana Scully FBI, now that was a nice name; unfamiliar but
sort of comforting. It was more than could be said for Assistant Director
Walter Skinner, now there was a man to haul your ass for you. He could see
he was in deep shit, just by looking at the man!

The FBI. What had he done to warrant their involvement. He didn't
understand any of it. He felt so glad when he seen her coming through the
door of his room, almost at peace somehow. Now he was so confused. A
kaleidoscope of thoughts, sounds and colors assaultedhis already fragile
brain.  How did they know who he was? How had they found him? Why were
they so angry with him, what had he done?  He had a feeling that her wrath
was fully justified.  God, what was he involved in?  His headache returned
as did the nausea; he disgraced himself before he had a chance to do
anything to stop it.

Agent Dana Scully reached his side before the nurse could react. He saw
such compassion in her eyes, that it took his breath away.

"Mulder! Look at me"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"I'll be all right, just give me a few minutes"

She gently ran her fingers through his hair, taking care not to touch the
injured side. He was lost.  He didn't know her from Eve, yet he was surer
than he was of life itself that he loved this woman! How can you just fall
in love with someone you've just met?


How was he going to sort this one out?

AD Skinner came to his rescue temporarily.

"Agent Scully," he said. "If we want to haul this Agent's ass back to DC
ASAP, you'd better speak to the doctor in charge, while I see to the paper
work."  So, I'm an agent too, He thought. He still couldn't think of
himself as Mulder; it seemed such a strange name.

Agent Scully had brought him a bag with some clothes.  He wasn't about to
ask how she'd got them. She looked as if she had a great deal to say to
him, but was saving it for later. He had a feeling that most of it would
not be good.  The events so far this morning were beginning to take their
toll. All he wanted to do was to curl somewhere. His brain was being
bombarded by facts from all sides. It was more than he could take in, more
than he wanted to take in.  She seemed to notice how bad he was beginning
to feel.

"You rest a while Mulder. We'll see what can be done to get you out of
here."

"Thanks, Dana." This earned him a very frosty look from both her and her
boss. What had he done now?  What was he to her and AD Skinner?

He was too tired to puzzle out what he should call her. 'Agent Scully'
doesn't seem right either, was his last waking thought.

When he awoke some time later, he saw she was sitting by his bedside.

"Thought I'd run out on you?" he quipped.

"Mulder," she said with exasperation "That's *exactly* why we're in this
position now."

"Oh," he said rather sheepishly.

While he lay resting, she took the opportunity to fill him.  They had
found him quite by accident.  The fingerprints the cop had taken had
matched up when run against the Government employees' database.  This had
been passed on to the FBI and then Skinner.

She explained he was an FBI agent, that they had been partners for a
number of years. AD Skinner was their direct superior. They worked on
cases deemed unsolvable by the other departments of the FBI. X-Files.  He
believed what she told him; nevertheless it felt very spooky. He
remembered none of this.  He had a gut feeling that a great deal hadn't
been said. He felt that no matter how bad, he could cope with truth. It
was all this uncertainty that was killing him.
 
He didn't know how he was going to cope with all this.  How would he earn
his living if his memory did not return?  He felt very apprehensive.  The
facts he'd been given were for some reason more unsettling than the total
ignorance that he'd been in before.  There was something not quite right
here. Something was missing. Something vital to his existence. It was
these missing parts that frightened him most. He still could not remember
how he had gotten here in the first place. One thing he was certain about,
though, no matter what, he could trust Dana Scully.


"Dana," he tried.

"Scully, it's just Scully," she'd replied.

He did not know what to make of this. What had been their relationship?
Had they been friends, just colleagues?  He couldn't figure it out, and
she wasn't telling.  Yet he knew the moment he saw her, that he loved her.
Was this feeling new or something that had always been There? By the way
she was reacting to him he didn't think these feelings of his were
reciprocated. What did she feel about him?  He wanted so much for her to
care about him too.  The signals he was receiving were confused . Nothing
seemed to make sense. There was more to all this, a lot more.  Why wasn't
he being told? What were they keeping from him and why?  Something awful
was about to happen; something that was beyond his control and that
control terrified him.  Panic clutched his throat making breathing
difficult. The harder he tried to do this the more dizzy he felt.  Then
the shaking began.

In a flash she was at his side, holding him in her arms. It felt so good
to be there; so safe. But he couldn't stop what was happening to him.

"Mulder, you're hyperventilating! Breathe. Slowly, take it in deep,
slowly, slowly. That's it. In, hold it. Out smoothly, and again, that's
it. That's it. You're okay, Mulder, I'll take care of you. Don't worry,
it'll be fine."

Gradually as she stroked his hair and talked to him, the tremors subsided.

"I'll look after you until you're better," she told him.

After a while she moved away from him.

In any event it took until noon before they could spring him. She helped
him get dressed. He wanted to do it on his own, but the cast on his right
arm made it very difficult.

"If we're done here, we'd better get moving. We have the 2 pm flight to
Washington to catch, and it's half an hour from here to the airport.
Skinner's seen to all the paperwork. Just say goodbye to the guys here and
we're out of here."

Skinner helped him into the wheelchair and pushed him out to the elevator
and the exit. He could hear the clicking of Scully's heals on the linoleum
as she followed on behind.  He was going into the unknown.

He dozed for much of the journey. They put in the back of their rental car
on the way to the airport. Once on board the plane He was glad to see that
Scully had finagled him enough room for him to stretch out and rest.  On
waking up as they were landing, he was embarrassed to find that he'd spent
most of the flight with his head resting in Scully's lap and her hand on
his shoulder. It had felt good. He hoped she hadn't minded.

Once at National Airport, they had split up.  Skinner collected his car to
drive himself back to Crystal City, while Mulder tagged along with Scully.

"I'm going to take you past the Hoover building to see if that jogs your
memory a bit," she said.  She told him that National Airport was in
Arlington County, just on the other side of the Potomac. As they left the
airport and started their drive up George Washington parkway, he admired
the beauty of the tree-lined parkway. They drove over 14th Street Bridge
and along 14th Street. Scully told him that they were traveling on Route
50 to Constitution Avenue. This, she said, was only a block away from the
FBI headquarters.

Mulder looked around as she drove, but nothing seemed familiar. They drove
around for a while, but Scully sensed that he was tiring "It's not far
from here to my place," she said. "We should be there in about a quarter
of an hour, if the traffic holds."

He looked at Scully, uncertain what to make of this. He felt
uncomfortable.

"Are you coming on to me?"

She chuckled softly.  "Now, *that* sounds more like the Mulder we all know
and love! It's just easier to look after you at my place, that's all."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say. More confusion and innuendo.

"Look, Mulder, tomorrow, after you've had a chance to rest, we'll drive
past your place and you can pick up whatever else you need. Okay?"

The lady had obviously thought all this out, so there was little use in
him arguing. It sounded like a plan. Anyway he was beginning to feel very
tired.  Once they were through the door of her apartment she set about
putting him to bed in her own bed. He protested that he'd be okay on the
couch.

"Humor me, okay ," she said.  He did feel a little weak and woozy,
probably from that pain pill Scully had made him have. He never should
have taken it, Mulder thought as he watched her turn down her bed for him.
He wanted to get her into bed and now here she was, about to tuck him in
while he could scarcely keep his eyes open. Where did that thought come
from?  Too far gone to argue, he slipped out of his shoes and allowed her
to help him out of his pants and shirt. She helped him into bed and he lay
down wearing only gray knit boxers.

"Thanks," he whispered, his eyes already closing. It was comforting lying
there in the light feminine room, the smell of her all around him. Turning
on his side, he was asleep in moments.




Through a veil of formless shadows he was stepping back. The air was full
of pain, throbbing and singing about him. He felt the rushing wind, as he
crouched terrified and trembling, his arm over his eyes.

"Samantha!" he screamed. "Where are you?"

In that moment he felt as if he were balanced between life and death. The
darkness and the light...He wanted no part of the darkness, he turned away
from it. He felt as if he were suspended in the heaving, pulsating space.
There was the brilliant light. He wanted to follow that light, yet he
could not. He was frozen.

"Samantha!"  "Samantha!"  His voice echoed and re-echoed through the dim
darkness. The light throbbed and then faded. The wind stilled, the humming
ceased. He was still, the throbbing pain in his head returning in full
force.

"Mulder?" a voice called to him, as if carried to him on the very air he
breathed. Slowly he opened his eyes. In the dim light he could barely see
her hands as they reached out to touch his face.

"Mulder?" Firm, warm vibrant with life, Scully opened her arms to him, the
soft silky fabric of her pajamas brushing his skin.

Her fingers brushed his lips.
 
"Hush, it's only a dream," she whispered, so softly it might have been the
moaning of the wind. He felt the terrible sadness trying to escape from
inside him.  She gathered him to her, rocking him. It felt as though she
had done this a thousand times before. He needed her so much.  A lifetime
of training had made him strong, but now that strength gave way. The body
gave way to the soul.

His body was still, his breathing quiet. He could feel the warmth of her
breath touching his skin.  She kissed the side of his head. He allowed the
warmth of her to wash over him. He could feel his tears falling. She held
him close, soothing away his anguish.  He remained that way only for a few
moments, then he pulled away from her, a rush of chill air wafting between
them. There was a strange, almost defiant quality to the movement, almost
as if he blamed her for allowing him this shameful act of self-pity.  The
spell was broken, the dream was shattered, but still she stayed close,
would not abandon him. She cuddled against him, continuing to stroke his
shoulder gently.  Mulder lay on his back, one arm flung across his face,
grateful for the darkness. Scully's cheek was a gentle weight on his
shoulder, as she lay against him, carefully avoiding his injured arm. He
breathed in, filling his lungs, aware of the faint musky rose scent of her
body, that delicious womanly scent that was intrinsically Scully. He felt
it shroud him, protect him.

Something that had been frozen a long time began to thaw inside. The
sensation was almost painful. The rush of emotions centered in his heart,
a longing, a yearning, a promise of what could be if he could make this
leap of faith and free himself from the feelings of guilt.  Guilt? Or
self-deception? Or a shield to guard his heart?

With his good arm her gathered her closer to himself as sleep finally
overcame him.

The morning dawned clear and bright. The sky through Scully's window was
tinted the ice blue of frozen pond water.  Mulder turned his head
gingerly. Her vibrant, cinnamon-coloured hair spilled across the white
pillowcase. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. She was his life. He
knew this without having to wait for his memory to return.
 
Gently he pulled her in closer to him so her head rested on his shoulder.
He was content just to lay there breathing in the unique scent of her
hair. He reached over to smooth the hair from her forehead.  She didn't
move.  His eyes settled on Scully's generous mouth, her face in sleep was
relaxed, yet there was an aura of vibrancy about her that he'd noticed
from the beginning. Those compelling azure eyes were closed now, her dark
lashes longer and thicker than they had a right to be, resting on her
flushed cheeks. She looked wonderful.  There was so much he didn't know
about this woman, so much he felt he hid from himself.  No matter, for
here he was, in her bed watching her sleep, enabling him to study her at
will. Four in the morning was a time of truth, of setting evasion aside,
he knew. There was no denying that he wanted her right were he had her, in
her bed, only awake.

Was it because she was special or because he was so very needy, something
he denied even to himself? Probably both, he decided, if honesty was to
count here.

Just holding her hand warmed him, her touch on his cheek excited him, her
innocent kisses on his forehead aroused him in a way he'd either forgotten
or had never known before. He remembered those kisses from before. That
much he could grasp back from the fog.

Yet if truth was the goal, he had to admit that she was probably the wrong
woman to want. Already he knew he loved her, meaning that she could so
easily hurt him. But then he also knew that this was something she would
never willingly do to him. Why was Scully so different?  Suddenly, like a
beam if light through a chink in the curtains he thought he understood.
She was different in that she wasn't looking for a man to spend her future
with, either. She had plans, independent goals that she wanted to achieve
on her own, beholden to no one. For years now, she'd held firm in her need
to succeed, not to stray from the path she'd set for herself. Did he
figure anywhere in those plans?

He touched her face.  Scully let out a ragged sigh.  His thoughts wondered
back. He remembered fractured fragments. Not so much things or events but
feelings, emotions. He felt that in the years he'd been alone, no woman
had interested him enough to matter. But this one mattered. Probably too
much.

He was aware that he had a horrible habit of overanalyzing everything. Why
couldn't he be the kind of man who'd hop into a woman's bed with no
regrets.  Because his heart was involved. Because making love was not a
causal thing to him. Making love. Was that what he was seriously
considering here?  His gaze fell on her hand resting on the sheet at his
side. Gently he traced the small fingers, feeling their strength.
 
When he was holding her like this tomorrow didn't matter. What he knew or
remembered paled into insignificance compared with the feeling that *this*
was what was really important to him. This woman, who he had just met yet
had known since the beginning of time. This other half of him, his very
soul. He lay for a longtime with her in his arm, finally at peace with
himself. What ever had gone before was no longer important. He had this
moment and today ahead of him. What more could he possibly need?  Tenderly
laying his hand in hers, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Later, He was to wonder what woke him. A sound, a movement a vague dream?
His eyes opened slowly and his vision cleared, finally focusing in the
light. He was gazing into azure-blue eyes staring into his as if she'd
been studying him for some time.

He felt the heat move to his face. Her fingers were still twined with his,
only she'd turned their clasped hands over, trapping his. His heart picked
up its rhythm as the minutes ticked by and still his eyes stayed locked on
hers.
 
He was the first to speak, in an effort to defuse the situation. "If I'd
known all it took to get you into bed was a broken arm, I'd have arranged
it sooner."

Scully let the comment go. "Are you in pain?"

"No," he lied, for the pain had awakened him. But he'd forgotten it
quickly enough when he realized that Scully was asleep beside him. For a
moment he'd thought he was dreaming.

He reached over with his good hand and stroked the backs of his fingers
along the satin of her cheek.

"You're so beautiful." Silently, she watched him, her eyes softening, her
lips parting slightly.  "I suppose you hear that all the time."

"Constantly. Day and night." Her voice was low and husky.

Suddenly from beneath the sheets came a loud growling rumble. Mulder felt
his face turn crimson. Pulling back, Scully smiled down at him.

"I suppose you want feeding, G-man?"

Padding into the kitchen barefoot, she shoved back her disheveled hair
with both hands and put on some coffee.

He was sitting up examining the cast on his arm. He glanced up and saw the
coffee moments before he smelt the welcome aroma.

"Ah, you read my mind." He took the mug she held out to him and sipped.
"Mmm, and she makes good coffee, too."

Scully sat down cross-legged on the bed, looking at him over the rim of
her mug. He found this quite unnerving.

"I was wondering how I'm going to take a shower with this," he said
indicating the cast.

"I can put plastic wrap around it, but you'll still have to keep it out of
the water. My mother used to do that after she had surgery on her foot."

"Good idea." He drained his mug." I guess I'd better get on with it."

"Come and eat first, then I'll help you."

Easing back, he put on a mischievous smile, needing to lighten up. "Have
you ever shared a shower?"

"No, but I've helped you take one on a number of occasions."

Mulder wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Instead he scooted off the
bed, and walked towards the table.
 
"Let's eat then, I'm starving."

When he'd finished his second bowl of Corn Pops, Scully went into the
kitchen to get the plastic wrap.

In a matter of minutes, she had his arm thoroughly wrapped. Mulder tested
the water temperature, then stepped in. He had his back turned to her as
she lathered up her big white bath sponge. He stood there obediently with
his plastic-covered arm held out to one side and waited. Scully began with
his shoulders and moved down his hack.  Quickly, she ran the sponge over
his arms and legs, avoiding other aspects of his body.

"Here, you finish," she said, handing him the sponge.  "I'll be back in a
minute to do your hair."

Mulder shook his wet hair from his eyes. He was glad she'd left him, he
felt oddly shy now. By the time she returned, he was sitting crouched up
in shower base. It didn't take Scully long the wash his short hair for
him, taking care not to knock the scab that had formed on his temple.

"Thank you," he said, his voice oddly thick with emotion.

"You know you're welcome."

He was glad she left him alone to finish.  He felt very confused. On the
one hand, he was very tempted to take what he felt for her further.
Sometimes she seemed to be giving him the 'come on', before shying away
from him.
 
He could feel that before this accident they'd had some sort of a
relationship. What wasn't clear to him, and she wasn't helping the matter,
was exactly what that relationship was.

They seemed very natural with each other in unnatural situations, and very
ill at ease in that he thought of as everyday ones. He really didn't know
what to do for the best.  They had obvious been very close, but there
seemed to be a wariness about both of them. He suspected that they had
shared a bed on occasions before, but surly if they had made love he'd
somehow know. It didn't feel as though they had.

There was great depth of feeling between them; a link.  This he knew
instinctively. He decided to play it cool until he could remember
something more. What irritated him was that she knew what their
relationship was, but she wasn't telling, wasn't even dropping any hints.
Why? He knew what he felt about Scully now, but he didn't know the woman
at all.

He put on the boxers and sweat pants she'd left out for him. Realizing
he'd need help with his top he left the bathroom to go in search of her.

Scully was in the bedroom, clearing up. As she helped him finish dressing,
she outlined what she'd planned for the day.

"If you feel up to it, we could drive up to your apartment this afternoon.
Your fish are probably starving, you need clothes, but most of all, being
in a familiar environment might jog your memory."

"Yeah, sure," he said. He hoped he could rest soon.  The exertions of the
morning were beginning to made him feel quite light headed.

"Mulder, are you okay? Come and sit down. You look very pale."  He was
grateful of the support as she helped him on to the couch.

"You rest up a while. We'll see what we're doing later. Okay?"

"'kay"  He felt his eyes closing even as he felt the afghan spread over
him.

He awoke to the smell of cooking, not the type that sometimes turns your
stomach. If anything, the smell made him realize just how hungry he was.
Scully seemed to be quite a good cook, certainly , he enjoyed everything
she put in front of him. She seemed quite amused at one point when he
asked for some more vegetables.

"X-files really *do* exist!"  He looked blank.

"Oh Mulder, it's just that you'd rather eat green jello than let a
vegetable pass your lips, and here you are asking for more."  She laughed.
It was a lovely sound.

He learnt two things from that afternoon's excursion.  One was that he
thought his apartment was a dump, and the other, that if he didn't think
about it, he knew exactly were everything was kept there.  Scully seemed
surprised by both.

The day had taken it's toll on him. After the light supper he needed to
sleep.

He felt so cold. It was around him, inside him, he could almost smell it.
He recognized anxiety, dread and fear. Layer upon layer of icy, silver
gauze, billowing in the wind, brushing, snagging, binding.  Entangling
him. White and gray, chilling, overwhelming. Wave after wave lapping
softly against him; gradually drowning him in despair. He could see a soft
gray light to the side of him. Through the swirling gauze he could see
her. Stepping forward, he was in a room white and gray, so many shades so
many tones. She lay covered in the white. Her cinnamon-coloured hair dull.
Stark contrast to the glacial white. Her face so pale. He would sell his
soul just to see her open those azure-blue eyes just once more. He knew
this was not to be. He could not reach her. She was deciding, going. She
was leaving him. Keening and sobbing swirled around dancing with the icy
silver gauze.

"Scully! Scully, don't leave me." He shouted.

He felt her warmth cut through the chill, her arms holding him safe. Her
gentle breath stirring his hair. The very smell of her was even now
chasing the demons away. He grasped her to himself as though he would
never let go, sobs racking him all the while, for all he had lost.

"Shh, baby, you know I'd never leave you, I'd never hurt you, shh. It's
only a dream. Look I'm here now."

She rocked him in her arms as the sobs tore at him. He felt her warm lips
on his face as she tried to kiss away his tears, tried to comfort him, but
he couldn't stop. The fear of losing her was still too great in his mind.
The knowledge that without her, he was dead.  She held him in her arms. He
lay entangled with her absorbing her warmth, her love; like a dry sponge a
pool of water. Gradually the sobbing eased and slowly he relaxed in her
safety and slept.

He awoke in the early morning, savoring the feeling of her arms cradling
him. He remembered the dream and felt a little foolish. Carefully, so a
not to waken her, he slid out of her arms. She moaned and muttered
something, but went back to sleep. He looked down at her, in the soft
light he could see her swollen eyes, the traces of tears still on her
face.

"What have I done to you?" he whispered.

She stirred.  He did not want to interrupt her rest. Slowly he got out of
bed. He would go to her kitchen and make himself a coffee.

He sorted the coffee-maker out and switched it on.  As he waited for it to
come up with the goods, he speculated on his memory loss.  A lot of his
memories seemed to be there, but just out of reach of his conscious mind.
He could access some of that when he was on 'automatic pilot'. The moment
he consciously tried to access, it all just went. How long would he have
to be in this no-man's-land?

He worried about doing the wrong thing as far as Scully was concerned. He
didn't understand why she wasn't more specific about their relationship.
By her actions, she obviously cared for him a lot, but they didn't seem to
have sexual relationship. Exactly what was he to her? He knew that now he
loved her, trusted her with his life. Had it been the same before his
memory loss? What had he been doing before the accident? If they were
partners, why wasn't she with him?  He felt no nearer to the answers.

The coffee was ready. He looked at the clock. It was early , but not too
early. He would pour her a cup out as well. He filled the mugs, and
knocked a spoon down onto the floor in the process.  He reached for the
spoon, stood up and saw stars as his head made contact with the open door
of one of the top cupboards.



His head ached like hell.

"Mulder, Mulder? Are you okay. God, the man's a walking disaster area!"

His eyes fluttered open and he realised that his head was nestled on her
lap as she knelt on the floor beside him.
 
"Mulder, can't I turn my back on you for a minute without you getting
yourself into trouble?"

She leaned over him with a look of concern on her face.

"Mulder, can you hear me?"

He lay silent for a moment , trying to work out what was different.
Suddenly he realised that he knew; he remembered everything! Whatever
choices life offered him, he would always love this woman who was so angry
with him yet so very concerned. He remembered what he'd been doing
previous to being injured. Another intriguing snippet had come his way and
he'd ditched her again. God would he never learn? She'd kick his butt, but
good for this, and he would be well deserving of it.

"Mulder, speak to me."

"I love you Scully, you know that don't you?"

He looked up into her worried, blue eyes, and lifted a hand to touch her
cheek to wipe away the solitary tear.

 "I'm sorry Scully, forgive me. I just don't seem to be able to learn that
lesson. I've done it to you again, haven't I?"

"You've got your memory back."

"Yeah, everything. It's time for you to kick ass, I deserve it."

She didn't say anything, only smiled and bent her head to kiss him gently
on his forehead.


End

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