From: "Liz Hay" Date: Sun, 11 Nov 2001 18:55:10 -0600 Subject: Selective Memory by Ana Sedai Source: direct Reply To: Selective Memory by Ana Sedai rating: PG, PG-13 class: SRA, ScullyAngst keywords: MSR (sort of) spoilers: None. Well, maybe a teensy one for "Demons". Dare ya to find it! timeline: I dunno, early season 5? Summary: We all know about Mulder's selective memory, don't we? Disclaimer: All together now: Not mine. Never will be. Yada yada yada. Archive: Sure. Fine. Whatever. (My name, please!) Author's notes at end ********************************* 7:00 AM: <> Mulder's eyes creaked open reluctantly in response to the buzzing of the alarm clock. He groggily examined the blinking numbers as though they would give him a coherent reason for leaving his nice, warm...bed? Huh? Since when did he have a bed? As he was contemplating that question, another one inserted itself into his fuzzy though processes: What, exactly, was causing that warmth across his back? He shifted, intending to turn over and find out, when a soft sigh stopped him cold. A soft, indubitably feminine sigh. In confirmation of his increasingly panicky musings, a delicate arm draped itself over his side, and the warmth moved closer, resolving itself into a warm, female body. Oh, God. What had he done? Scully nuzzled his back, murmuring, "Mulder, turn that thing off, will you?" Automatically, he did as she asked. Well, she obviously knew he was here, with her, in her bed, and (Christ on a pogo stick!) naked to boot. Well, almost naked. He still had his boxers, thank God. That was a good sign. He finally threw off his shock-induced lethargy and hauled himself onto his other side, dislodging Scully's arm in the process, facing her. In the early morning light peeking through the window shades, Scully was undoubtedly one of the better sights Mulder had ever woken up to. Her soft, nude body was tangled in the white sheets, covered up against the room's chill. Her eyes were closed and her lips were curved in a half-smile. Her nose was burrowed into her pillow, and her face was turned towards him. However, at the moment he was too busy trying to get a coherent sentence past his throat to notice all this. "Scully...what?...how?...why?..." "Keep going, Mulder, and you'll have asked all a good reporter's questions," she murmured, her eyes still not opening. How could she joke at a time like this? He finally managed a question. "Scully, what is going on here?" he asked in rather a louder tone than he would have liked. It got a response out of her, though. Her eyes popped open and looked at him with a combination of confusion, surprise, and...hurt? Her brows came slightly together in mild consternation. "Mulder, what are you talking about? Don't you remember?" He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak again. She blinked, the hurt in her eyes becoming the dominant emotion. She spoke slowly, examining his face with her eyes. "You came over last night because you couldn't sleep. I made some tea, and we talked for a while. Then you said you could get to sleep and offered to take the couch. I..." Here she hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. "I...didn't want you to be alone, so I said we could share the bed. You accepted." She finished with a sigh. "And that's all? How did we end up...?" Mulder gestured between them, indicating their state of undress. She bristled slightly at the "that's all?", but answered his question calmly. "You were dog-tired, Mulder. You couldn't sleep in your clothes, so I helped out." The thought of her hands on his bare skin nearly sent him through the roof, and he couldn't even remember it! "I was too tired to care how I looked, so I just...undressed and crawled in. Sorry if that makes you cranky." Uh oh. Now she was mad. Mulder backpedaled slightly. "No, Scully, it's okay. Thanks." He ran a hand through his hair and gave her a sheepish look. "Sorry I went overboard like that. I must have been a lot more tired than I thought. I just don't like waking up in places that I forgot I ever went to, you know? It's usually a sign that I screwed up big-time. At least I didn't, this time, anyway." He threw a grin her way, relieved that there was such a simple explanation for his current location. She didn't grin back. Instead, she turned on her other side, away from him, and said that he could use the shower first if he wanted. She'd make coffee. He said fine, a little confused at her response to his relief, and headed for the bathroom. The second the door clicked behind him, one of the tears that Scully had been holding in worked its way out of her eye. It wound down her face to splash onto the pillow she was now clutching tightly. She couldn't decide if she wished the pillow was Mulder's waist or his neck. Either one sounded good, though in her current state of mind, squeezing his neck might give her more satisfaction. <> Is that what he thought their love-making would have been? A mistake? Oh, Christ, what was she going to do? <> she told herself. <> Scully mentally thanked God that they'd at least showered last night after making love on the couch. The scent of sex would have been unmistakable and a wet spot on the sheets in addition to that wouldn't have helped one bit. This was a nightmare. He didn't remember. Not one thing. Nothing of what had happened between them. She hadn't lied. He'd appeared at her door last night, tired and weary, but unable to sleep. She was used to this. She'd made them some herbal tea and they'd sat at the kitchen table, silent for a time. Then, for some reason, they'd been able to talk. Really talk. Not about work, but about them and what they meant to each other. It hadn't taken some life-threatening crisis to do it, either. Maybe it had simply been their time. He's said, "I love you", and so had she. The sky hadn't fallen in after all. Somehow they had ended up in her living room, kissing the daylights out of each other. He'd lowered her to the couch, a question in his eyes that she had answered by dragging his head down to hers again and weaving her hands between the strands of his hair while he kissed her. He'd loved her on that couch, and she'd loved him in return. It had felt so wonderful, so...right. After, he'd teasingly suggested that maybe he should sleep on the couch, and she in her bed, in order to keep up appearances. She'd laughingly told him that there was no way he was leaving her tonight, no sirree. And so, they'd taken a shower together and fallen into bed, exhausted, the only article of clothing between them, Mulder's tye-dyed boxers. She'd fallen asleep with his arms around her, a smile on her face, certain that this was the start of something wonderful. Then, the alarm, and reality, came crashing in with dawn's early light. Mulder didn't remember, assumed a relationship between them would be...what had he said?...a "big-time screwup". <> she thought caustically, as she made the bed, viciously yanking the sheets up over the pillows. Why didn't he remember? Was his subconscious so self- destructive that it would equate any real happiness with a threat to his psyche? She refused to cry. Mulder would see her face and wonder. She'd wait for the shower, when he was gone. Then she would give her tears free rein. She threw on her robe, and as she walked past her bureau mirror she noticed a mark on her neck. She took a closer look. It was small, hardly noticeable even, but she knew it was from Mulder's mouth. It was the only evidence she had of what they had been to each other, however briefly. She suddenly wondered if Mulder had any similar mementos, if he would wonder... No, she decided. Even if he did notice any, he was always banged-up enough that he probably wouldn't recognize them for what they really were. She hoped. In the shower, Mulder felt the hot water sting the skin of his back. When he got out, he craned his neck to look at his back in the mirror. There were several scratches down his back. None were deep enough to have drawn blood, but they were tender. Where did those come from? He didn't remember receiving them, but that didn't mean anything. Many times he would hurt himself and not even realize it until much later. He knew what they looked like, but he was certain that he would have remembered that, at least. Perhaps he'd gotten them during the pickup game at the YMCA yesterday? Oh well, no matter. They didn't hurt anymore, and would most likely be gone in day or two anyway. When he came out of the bathroom, Mulder found his clothes from yesterday waiting for him on the bed. He needed to get some clothes for work at his apartment. He heard Scully in the kitchen, the gurgling sounds indicating that she was making coffee. He called out, "Shower's ready!" and changed into his jeans and T-shirt hurriedly. Scully appeared in the doorway with two cups of coffee in her hands and a strange look on her face as she watched him tie his shoes. "You okay, Scully?" he asked, slightly concerned about her mood swings this morning. He hoped he wasn't the cause. It wasn't as though this was the first time this had happened. He'd slept in her apartment before; though, admittedly, not in her bed with her in it at the same time. "I'm fine, Mulder." Her standard answer, telling him absolutely nothing. He chose not to pursue it, unwilling to risk further upsetting her. He stood up, took the proffered cup of coffee, and drained it in one gulp. "Thanks, Scully," he said, smiling in what he hoped was a grateful manner. He dug in his pocket for his keys, and said "I gotta go and dress for work. I don't think 'Casual Day' has caught on at the Bureau yet." Scully merely nodded and replied, "See you at the office then, Mulder," and turned towards the bathroom. On instinct, Mulder lightly touched her shoulder. She stiffened. He asked once more, "Scully, are you absolutely certain you're alright? If you're mad about last night..." Scully took a deep breath, knowing that if he didn't leave now, she would completely break down. She spoke carefully, every word calm, though the effort was incredible. She couldn't look at him, though. "Mulder, I'm fine. Really. I'm not mad about last night. We...you didn't do anything wrong. I'm glad you came to me when you needed to." She moved forward again, and Mulder's hand dropped from her shoulder. She still did not turn around. She quietly entered the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it. She listened for the sound of her front door closing. That would be the signal that she could finally vent this awful grief. Mulder stood in her bedroom for a few moments more, hesitant to move. There was obviously something wrong with her. Just as obviously, she didn't want to talk about it. If it wasn't last night... He sighed and headed for the door. If she decided to tell him later, she would. He wouldn't push her; it never worked. He shut the front door behind him and headed for the parking lot, wondering where, and if, he had left his car. In the bathroom, Scully slid down the door until she was sitting on the cold tile with her head on her knees and her arms around her legs. She took a deep breath, and the quiet tears turned into slight whimpers, then into shuddering sobs. Alone, Dana Scully cried her broken heart into the relentless silence. ***THE END*** Author's Notes: I know, I know. Ain't I a stinker? Have no fear. I won't leave you here. I'll have a sequel done By the end of the year! (I think.) I just felt like writing an angsty story. I love angst. It makes me all tingly inside. In most fanfics of this type, Mulder tries to convince Scully that a personal relationship is a great idea, while she is the reluctant one. In this one, I wanted to see what would happen if it were the other way around. Since I'm technically not finished, I don't know if it'll work or not. Let me know how I'm doing! Also, let know if anyone is interested in a prequel.