Coffee III Different Today By RocketMan ===== Sometimes, after everything that has happened, I can totally forget it, be so immersed in reading or watching television or even talking to Mulder on the telephone that what happened never enters my mind. But then the book will describe it, or mention, or make a vague reference, or the characters in a program will say something that is so Mulder, or Mulder himself will start sending out those guilty vibes, and it's back. I can feel the hands of him, everywhere probing, reaching inside me, hurting and I know somewhere that it is not him, but my mind and my memory sees Mulder and it's a fresh stinging slap. These are memories I would love to forget, love to have repressed, unknown except for what others tell me. My mother looks at me as if I have been soiled, as if my body is not mine, and in many ways, it is not mine. It is Mulder's and so much of him is in me that I cannot imagine being anyone else's but Mulder's. I have changed; I am different these days. I didn't press charges. That echoes in my mind every morning when the images decide to visit me, or when the nightmares take me over. I wish Mulder would come to me, and take what is his. I can't stand holding it and just waiting for him. I shudder and turn my eyes from the pitiful figure whining at me in the mirror. I will not be pitiful. I will not be sad or hurt or a victim. I wanted it at first. I wanted it. I deserve it. I have to go to work now. I have to work with him next to me as my entire body rebels and reaches out for him, as the guilt builds into a crescendo of silent symphony that pounds on my ears. I shiver again and pull on the wine colored suit, with its not at all revealing neckline and the longest skirt I think I own that is still within fashion. I pull on the necklace around my skinny neck, its links reminding me of the angry red scratches from where his hand had caught and pulled, leaving those marks. I bite down on my lip and walk out of my front door, determined that it will not be like this. I see the elevator and the old, wooden railings, the weathered and buckled window frames, the dark passage to the lobby, the bright morning light peeking through the glass windows of the apartment complex. I am outside and everything is exactly the same. Everything moves on, the street people are still wallowing in their poverty, my car is still waiting for me to turn the engine and let it enjoy the day too. Everything is the same. I am the only thing different today. ===== I walk through as quickly as I can without looking like I'm any more nervous or upset or angry than usual, and everyone is watching me. Everyone. I make it to the bank of elevators that descend to the basement, feeling wholly unfit for a journey down the stairs. I feel their eyes on me, their mixture of pity and respect. Pity because I am going back to work with the man who raped me, and respect because I am going back to work with the man who is my partner. I meet Mulder at the elevators and he gives me a terse nod that I know will be dissected and commented about by the employees watching us and I wish they wouldn't because they'll tear him apart . . . they'll tear him apart. I reach out and touch his arm and he smiles at me in extreme relief and takes my hand, letting his fingers slide quickly across my skin before letting go. I can feel their stares, but I don't care, because Mulder is still my partner, and no matter what, I forgive him. ===== "Scully?" "Uhm-hm?" "Are you sure you feel like working?" I consider a retort and wonder what it would do to him. Probably hurt when all I'm trying to do is relieve the tension. "I'm sure, Mulder. I'm fine." "Okay . . . here's the first reports on those crop circles." He sees my face and shrugs. "Yeah, lame, I know. But these people keep sending me these long wordy pleas about how it's ruining their lives, blah, blah, blah." I arch an eyebrow at him, quite aware of his attempt. "Really?" "Ah . . . and it's a good case to get our feet wet on." I nod. I should have figured. I want some easiness though, so maybe this will be more a placating kind of case and we'll get a lot of good opportunities to talk. "Sure Mulder. That's a good idea." He nods and his shoulders hunch under my gaze and I know he's feeling incredibly guilty and incredibly, well, scandalized by everything. "Mulder." I say it softly, wishing to catch him off guard so that he'll tell me the full truth for once. "Mulder, I don't like this." His startled glance makes me realize I have said it entirely wrong, but today, I am different, and it doesn't matter. "I'm sorry," he says immediately and gets up to leave. "No, Mulder. I mean, us. I don't like how you're scared to talk to me . . . I miss you." It took more courage to say that than anything I've ever done before. More even than telling my father I was going to the Academy. "I miss you too. But . . . I can't, Scully. What happened was wrong and it's not anything I want to ever happen again." This crushes me and I don't know why, but it's heavy and squeezing out all of my breath until I don't think I can see without spots. "Mulder. What if I said I wanted it to happen again?" His horrified face makes me smile a little. "No like that, Mulder." I say and shake my head. "You really do watch too many of your movies, you know?" He is grateful for the humor and gives me a wry look. "But seriously, Mulder. I . . . I didn't want it to happen like that. But now that it has, I want it to be something good, not bad, not shameful." "Do you want me to marry you?" I laugh before I can realize how much that will hurt him and I shake my head. "Oh, jeez, Mulder. No. Well . . . no. Okay? That's not what I meant. I'm not asking you to restore my honor or anything cheesy like that." His face is downcast and I touch his cheek, the first touch he has not flinched at. "So, what do you want me to do?" he says. "Stop hurting." He glances at me and sighs, his eyes turning into muddy pools of amber, light and showing me my own reflection. "It's not that easy." "No kidding," I whisper under my breath. I lean forward until I can no longer see myself in his pained eyes and then I take a deep breath as memories start flooding over: I will not let them drown me. "Mulder, let me kiss you." He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it, leaning in and pressing his lips to my eager and frightened mouth. It is different. I am different, too, but this isn't the forced, rushed frenzy of before. It's soft and mellow and almost like listening to a Sarah McLachlan CD in a bubble bath. His eyes sparkle when I sigh and move away. "Did that help?" he says. I nod and can feel the haunting slipping away with his smile, his lips no longer make me feel bruised. I take his hand and see it in my memory: the way it came across my face, dug into my thighs, rammed into me. It is a horrible and huge thing, his hand, and I tremble as I touch it. But he does not move away. Somehow he knows I need this. I spread the fingers along the desk, tracing the short nails and the wrinkles that make it his and make it predominant in my mind. I let my hand slide into his and bring it to my cheek, flinching as I feel once again the skin that slammed into mine. He trembles and strokes my cheek, making me gasp even though I know he will not do anything. His eyes shudder and I kiss his thumb, no longer remembering. I sigh and slump to the side of his desk, feeling my energy completely drained, my head pounding with the intesity of my feelings. He slides down next to me and gently takes my shoulders. His grip is steady but soft and his eyes are that shade of coffee that reminds me of life giving things, of earth and books and summer. I reach out and touch his cheek and he kisses my hand and it does not hurt. Mulder no longer hurts me. I am different today, but Mulder is different today too. He lifts me up and settles me in his chair, behind the desk and before his kneeling body. "I miss you too, Scully." he says and rests his hands on my knees. I am not afraid of his hands or his smile or his beautiful eyes. I lean down and press my cheek to his shoulder and let myself cry. I am different today while the world has not changed. He holds me and whispers that it's all right and that I'm going to be all right and that we will be all right. I lean back and take his hand. "Thank you, Mulder." I am changing, emerging from my coccoon and flying in brilliant blue as the butterfly. I am different today. end Adios RocketMan