Title - A dream deferred (1/?)
Author - Cyra (ccontryman@ups.edu)
Rating - R
Classification - SRA
Spoilers - Triangle
Keywords - Mulder/Scully romance.
Summary - What *could* have happened when Mulder woke up at
the end of
Triangle?  It's not what you think...
Disclaimer - Yeah, I don't own them.  Whatever.
Archive - please, anywhere.  Just let me know.
Author's notes - At the end.  I don't want to give anything
away.

***

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore -
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over -
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
- Langston Hughes

Mulder was unconscious for three days before, early one
morning, Scully
woke to the sound of him asking for water.  She had been
dozing in one
of the uncomfortable chairs that the hospital provided.  She
blinked
sleepily in the dim light.

"Water," Mulder repeated.

"Hi," she whispered, rising and walking over to his bed. 
"Welcome
back.  Here," she said, slipping a few ice chips into his
mouth.
 
"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital.  You had a mild concussion and you've
been
unconscious for three days.  I had just about given up on
you."  She
slid her hip onto the bed and gazed down at him.  "It's good
to see you
awake."

Mulder opened his eyes a little more, gazing at her.  "Who are
you?"

***

"Amnesia," Mulder repeated dumbly, looking down at his hands
as they
rested on the scratchy sheets.

"There's no way of telling whether the condition is
permanent," the
doctor said.  "The best thing you can do is to fall back into
your
regular routine and hope for the best."

"Mulder, do you remember where you work?"  Scully asked.

He closed his eyes and shook his head.  "No."

"We're partners at the FBI.  We've been at work on a project
for the
last five years."

"Five years."  Mulder looked at her closely.  "What was your
name
again?"

Scully smiled sadly.  "My name is Dana Scully."

"And you're my partner."

"Yes."

"What do we work on?"

Scully glanced at the doctor.  "That is probably a question we
should
discuss later."

The doctor took the hint.  "You can check out tomorrow
morning, I
think.  I would advise you to contact his family, Agent
Scully."  He
disappeared through the door.

Mulder gazed critically at the woman who looked down at him. 
He found
it hard to believe that he could have forgotten such a face -
she seemed
to be a blend of strength and delicacy, intelligence and
faith.  Her red
hair fell across her forehead as she sat down and pulled her
chair
towards him.

"Would you like for me to call your mother?"  She asked
gently.

"My mother.  What about my father?"

She pressed her lips together.  "Your father died just a few
years ago."

"How?"

She was very uncomfortable, he could tell.  "He died of a
gunshot
wound."

"Who shot him?"

She said slowly, "Your father was a key player in our work. 
We are
trying to uncover a government conspiracy. His death was a
warning to
us."

Mulder understood that.  He knew, by the way his senses
suddenly moved
into overdrive, that conspiracy was something that meant a lot
to him.

"Call my mother, please," he said, and watched as she picked
up a cell
phone and used the speed dial.  The phone was apparently his,
not hers.

"Mrs. Mulder?"  She paused.  "Mrs. Mulder, this is Agent Dana
Scully....ma'am, I'm afraid that your son is in the
hospital...He's
currently suffering from some memory loss.  He has asked for
you,
but...yes.  Arlington.  Thank you, Mrs. Mulder."

She hung up and placed the phone back on the desk.  "She'll be
here as
soon as she can.  She's at Martha's Vineyard."

Mulder was beginning to feel drowsy again.  He kept his eyes
on Dana
Scully for as long as he could, and as his eyes finally closed
he
thought he saw her wipe her eyes dry.

***

Mrs. Mulder came and left, leaving Mulder bewildered.  She
seemed to be
angry about something.  Despairing.  Defeated.  He turned to
Agent
Scully, who was staring out the window.

"Is she always like that?"  He asked.

"I've only met her a few times," she answered evasively.  "You
should
sleep now."

"Will you stay?"

She turned around, and he saw for the first - or was it the
first? -
time how blue her eyes were.  "Mulder," she said, "If I stay,
you'll ask
me a thousand questions and never get to sleep."

"Please don't go," he said, somehow knowing that even if she
left, he
wouldn't sleep.

She sighed.  "I have to be at work tomorrow."

"You don't have a partner.  How can you work?"

"Are you implying that you're the brains behind this outfit?" 
She
asked, and only a glitter in her eyes told him that she was
joking.

"If I am, we're in deep shit now."

She smiled.  "I'll stay until you fall asleep."

***

When Mulder's eyes finally closed, Scully did not move.  She
stayed
gazing at him, watching his chest rise and fall and his lashes
softly
fluttering.  He was dreaming.  She wondered what he was
dreaming about.

Perhaps if she woke him now, in the midst of some sleeping
memory, he
would wake up knowing who she was.  She was about to shake
him, had sat
on the bed to do so, when he suddenly bolted upright.

"Whoa...whoa, Mulder, it's okay," she said quietly as he
oriented
himself.

"Dana," he said, as if testing the name.  "I dreamed that you
were
sick."

"I was sick, about a year ago.  I had cancer."

"But it was my fault, wasn't it?  You almost died...twice."

"Three times," she confessed.  "More.  But none of these
episodes were
your fault, Mulder.  To say you were at fault for any of my
problems
would be to say that I have no control over my life.  You and
I have
dangerous lives.  The fault lies with the men who seek to
destroy us."

"Why do they want to destroy us?"  He was shaking now.  Scully
moved her
hand up to his neck, aching to hold him, but somehow unable
to.

"Because we want to destroy them."

"Oh, God," Mulder put a hand to his eyes.  "How can we live
like this?"

"With the knowledge that, even if the world falls apart around
us, you
and I can trust each other."

He looked up at her, and Scully's words of wisdom died in her
throat. 
He searched her eyes with a bruising tenderness, looking for
something
that she didn't know was there.

"Are we lovers?" He asked in a low voice.

"No," she said.  "We are friends.  Best friends."

He shook his head.  "No.  I can remember this.  I love you. 
You love
me."

Scully tried to pull away, but he grasped her hand.  "Have I
ever made
love to you?"  He demanded.

"No!"  Scully turned away from him, but couldn't pull her hand
from his.

"Have I ever kissed you?"  Somehow he knew that he had...hoped
that he
had.  He needed something from her.

"No.  Let me go."

He did, reluctantly.  "Are you telling me the truth?"

She wrapped her arms around herself and wandered to the
window,
remembering the hallway.  "Yes," she said harshly.

She was lying.  He almost laughed, but his throat constricted. 
His
heart was breaking.

***

Mulder woke with an aching neck to the sound of Dana's voice. 
"Mulder,"
she said, "Skinner is here."

*Skinner*...he opened his eyes and looked at the new arrival.

"Do you know who I am?" The tall man asked in a deep bass
voice.

"No."  Mulder shook his head and looked to Dana.

"Do you remember her?"

"Some," he said, and caught a vision of kissing her...on board
a ship. 
She had decked him.  *The little liar.*

Skinner said wearily,  "I'll see you in the office tomorrow,
Agent
Mulder.  Agent Scully, outside, please."

He watched the two of them through the window as they
conversed.  He
sensed a camaraderie, an intimacy between them.  She was
upset.  She put
her hands on the sides of her head and closed her eyes,
speaking to the
tall man without looking at him.

If Mulder hadn't been weak as a kitten, he would have jumped
out of bed
when Skinner took her in his arms and rocked her slowly.  She
was
crying.

*She's mine.  You can't touch her.  Get away from her.*

As if he'd heard Mulder's thoughts, Skinner looked through the
window at
him.  He must have seen Mulder's panic, for, with a wry,
understanding
smile, he let go of Dana and spoke a few words to her, then
quickly
walked away.

Dana did not come back inside the room.  Unaware that he was
watching,
she sat down in the hall and hid her face, almost certainly in
tears. 
Mulder sat, bewildered, unable to go to her.

***

On the drive home from the hospital, she told him what they
would be
working on.  "We were taken off our project because of
internal
politics. We're currently doing background checks.  Baby
stuff.  You'll
be bored to tears."

"What an exciting job," Mulder muttered.

"Don't worry about it," she said.  "You'll probably manage to
get us
into trouble even without your holy quest."

He looked at her quizzically, and caught the tail end of a
rueful
grimace.  She had revealed more than she meant to.

"So this is my quest, hm?  What's your part in it?"

"I try to keep you honest," she said.  "Usually without luck."

The subject was closed.  He could tell from her voice and the
whiteness
of her knuckles on the steering wheel.  He didn't push it.

Scully didn't have too much trouble getting him settled in. 
He sat
right down on the couch and stretched out - she supposed habit
could
transcend memory - and started to drop off.  

Sighing, Scully went into the kitchen and made herself some
coffee.  She
didn't want to go home.  What if he woke up, remembering? 
What if he
went back into the coma?  She knew that she wouldn't be able
to baby-sit
him forever, but it seemed too soon to leave him alone.

He looked very peaceful, laying sprawled on the couch, as if
nothing had
changed.  He didn't understand why she couldn't respond to his
advances.  He didn't understand that she loved him, but
couldn't allow
herself to act on it. 
 
"Mulder," she whispered, watching him breathe with the
regularity of
deep sleep, "I know you're confused.  I know you don't
understand why
you and I...you and I..." She broke off and took a deep
breath.  "If
anyone found out how much I care for you, they would use that
against
us.  What happened in the hallway that day...it can never
happen again. 
It would destroy us.  No - it would destroy *you*, and I can't
allow
that to happen."  A tear slipped down her cheek.  "Forgive
me."

***

Mulder heard every word.  He thanked God for whatever instinct
had told
him to keep his eyes shut when she first spoke.  He thought
she may have
been crying again, but he wasn't sure.

"Maybe this will be an opportunity to clean up this apartment
of yours,"
she said in a lighter tone, obviously just speaking to hear
herself
talk.  "I've always wondered if there was anything in your
bedroom at
all.  I won't look, of course, but the thought is tempting." 
She
sighed.  "Maybe I'm just loosing my mind.  That would be
poetic justice.
You're totally without memory, and I'm the one who's acting
crazy."

She wandered to the coffee table and began straightening
stacks of
newspapers and magazines.  "Ah, here's a copy of *The Lone
Gunman.* 
Maybe I should ask them over.   But no...they would get way
too much of
a kick out of this.  Either that or they would fill your head
with
nonsense while they had the chance."  Snort.  "As if you would
think it
was nonsense.  Maybe this is my chance to bring you down to
earth."  She
sat down on the coffee table with a heavy thud.  "I'm going to
go home
now.  I can't take this anymore.  I'll see you at the office."

At the door, however, she placed her hand on the knob and
rested her
forehead against the jamb.  She stood there for a long time,
and Mulder
began having trouble keeping his breathing deep and even.  If
she left,
he'd be destroyed.  If she stayed, he'd be ecstatic.

"Mulder," she muttered. "I hate you.  How can you do this to
me?"  And
she slumped down into his armchair in defeat.

***

Scully woke to the smell of hot coffee.  And a crick in her
neck. 
Grimacing, she sat up in bed - only to find herself not in
bed, but in
Mulder's living room, sacked out in a chair.

"Fuck," she swore, reaching up to massage her neck.

"Hey, good morning, sunshine," Mulder's cheery voice called
from the
kitchen.  "Do you like eggs?  I found some eggs in the
fridge."

"Are they still good?"  She said warily.

"Looks like.  How did you sleep?"

"Well, considering that I have the mother of a headache and
the fact
that I haven't changed clothes for twenty-eight hours, not
well," she
said matter-of-factly.  "You?"

"Like a baby."  He emerged from the kitchen with a mug and a
plate of
scrambled eggs.  "You want me to do something about that
neck?"

"What do you mean?"  She asked suspiciously.

"Come here," he said, and pulled her to the couch.  She sat,
placing her
breakfast on the coffee table, and she jumped when he slipped
behind her
and began to knead her shoulders.

"Mulder...no," she said, moving away.

"Come on, Dana, it's not like I'm a dangerous character.  Want
me to
show you my credentials?"

"Very funny," she muttered, and flinched again when his thumbs
came to
rest against her neck.  "Mulder, I don't need a back rub.  Eat
your
breakfast."

"I already ate.  Wow, Dana, you look terrible.  Not used to
sleeping in
chairs?"

"Mulder, shut up," she said crossly.  

"I take it the answer is yes."

"Would you just go get ready for work?"

"Shh, Scully," he said, and began to move his thumbs in tiny
circles.

"Don't call me that," she said sharply.

His hands stilled.  "Why?"

She made to stand up, but his hands restrained her.  "Why
shouldn't I
call you by your last name, Dana?"

"That's what you always call me," she whispered.  "If you call
me that,
I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what?"  His hands smoothed over her shoulders.

"Let go of me," she said miserably.  "I have to go to work."

"Stay here with me today," he said.  "Tell them I don't feel
well enough
to go in."  He slowly leaned her back against his chest,
wrapping his
arms around her shoulders.  "I can't go in there like this. 
I'll be a
joke, Dana."

Scully was on the verge of saying that nothing he could do
nowadays
would change that, but she refrained.  He felt so good against
her back,
just holding her, comforting her.  She could feel his breath
against her
neck, his hands clutching her biceps...his mouth on her
shoulder.

"Don't," she whispered.

"I have to," he replied.

*I have to.*  It was as simple as that.  She knew the feeling. 
She knew
how it felt to want him so badly that she knew that she would
die if she
couldn't touch him.  At those times, she'd been able to grasp
his hand
or hug him chastely in order to stave off the compulsion to
take him
home and make love to him.

Mulder had no such self-control.  He had no concept of the
absolute
necessity that they stay platonic friends, chaste lovers.  He
didn't
understand what could happen if anyone found out.  And so he
didn't see
the need to deny his impulses.  And without his self-restraint
to
bolster hers, she crumbled.

"Oh, God," she moaned when his mouth moved to her earlobe. 
"We can't do
this."  But even as she said it, her hands moved to clutch at
his
knees.  She kneaded his thighs convulsively, a move that
caused her to
push further back into him until their bodies were flush
together.  She
could feel every part of him.  Every part.

Mulder reeled.  She had given in so suddenly, so fully, that
he was
almost unsure of how to go on from there.  Almost.  At any
rate, she
would have reminded him eventually.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, turned to the side to
grant him
access to her ear.  She wore little diamond earrings which he
toyed with
with his teeth.  The back came off and the earring slipped
down her
blouse.

"Whoops," he said huskily.  "Want me to get that?"

She turned her head towards him and suddenly, incredibly,
began to
laugh.  She laughed with such joy and abandon that he was
entranced for
a moment.

"You don't laugh often, do you?" He asked when she quieted
down.  The
merriment in her eyes died abruptly, and she looked away.

"Let me make you laugh," he whispered, and squeezed her knees.

She shrieked and twisted away from him, but he wouldn't let
her get
away.  He tickled, and she fought him furiously.  In the
tussle that
ensued, he managed to get her jacket off of her before they
fell to the
ground.

"No, Mulder," she said, laughing helplessly, when he attacked
the zipper
of her skirt.

"Don't say that, Dana," he said.  "As a gentleman, I'd have to
stop, and
neither of us want me to do that."

"You're not a gentleman.  You're a barbarian," she declared. 
"And I
happen to know that barbarians are very ticklish."  And she
went for his
sides with her little fingers.

Mulder was instantly spasming and crying out in laughter,
totally
helpless to do anything but try to stay out of range.  When
she stopped
suddenly, he sat up - a bad move, because that put him in a
perfect
position for her to smack him over the head with a throw
pillow.

After that, it was chaos until Scully wilted, exhausted, on
the floor,
laughing breathlessly.

"No more," she gasped.  "I'm too old for this..."

Mulder saw his chance and covered her with his body, attacking
her neck
with his teeth and tongue.  She shrieked in laughter again.

"No laughing," he growled in her ear playfully.  "This is
grown-up
time."

Her laughter was rapidly subsiding.  Oh, God, what that man
could do
with his mouth.  He suckled on the spot just above her
collarbone,
biting it gently, pressing his tongue against her pulse. 
Scully felt
arousal take over again, moving into her weak muscles like hot
honey
being poured throughout her body.  She moaned and clutched at
his arms,
those marvelous strong shoulders that she'd leaned on so many
times.  

This had to be some kind of dream.  No mortal man could feel
this good
against a female body.  "Mulder," she whispered.  "Mulder."

He trailed hot kisses up to her cheek.  "Why do you call me
that?"

"You never liked Fox," she said breathlessly.  "You said you
even made
your parents call you Mulder."

He laughed a little, his fingers working at the buttons of her
blouse. 
"Will you regret it if I make love to you today, Dana?"

She closed her eyes.  "I don't know.  You're not yourself."

"I am.  I know this.  I know everything about you, Dana, even
if I can't
remember it.  I won't regret it.  This can't be wrong."

"It isn't wrong," she said.  "It's just...ill advised.  They
might be
watching.  They might find out somehow."

"Tell me to stop, then."

"I can't."  She clutched harder at his arms when his tongue
dipped to
the valley between her breasts, gathering the perspiration
that had
accumulated there after their merry tussle.  "Oh, God,
Mulder."

"I can't do this if I think you'll regret it, Dana.  Scully."

The name pushed her over the edge.  With a low moan, she
pulled his head
up to hers and kissed him desperately, with all the feeling
she had
hiding in her heart for him, wishing she could devour him or
at least
take a part of him away with her to keep in her pocket.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered.  "I know...you don't
understand
what that means...but I needed you to know."

"I do understand," he replied.  

"No," she shook her head.  "You can't understand how much you
mean to
me, Mulder.  Please listen to me," she said desperately, and
he slowly
drew away to look at her.

She was suddenly daunted by the bright intensity of his eyes. 
He had
never looked at her that way, never.  Her throat closed and
she was
powerless to say what she wanted to say.

"What is it?"  He whispered.

"You scare me," she answered truthfully.  "You're so driven,
Mulder.  I
never had a chance after you...touched me earlier.  Do you
realize that
your eyes turn to this spectacular color green when you...when
you..."

"When I look at you?"

"No.  When you get an idea in your head.  You've never looked
at me with
these eyes, Mulder."

"Maybe you've never seen me before," Mulder said, leaning down
to kiss
her neck.

Words dissolved then, into a hot and aching deluge that washed
over her,
sweeping her under and drowning her.  She was drowning.  He
was dragging
her under, soaking her in sweet, sticky pleasure.  Oh God...

Mulder sensed a subtle change in her.  In another culture, it
would have
been recognized as an altered state of consciousness.  She was
still and
silent, staring up at him with unseeing eyes that burned with
a kind of
fire that he understood.  She was overwhelmed with this. 
Hell, he was
pretty overwhelmed himself, and he didn't have any idea how it
had come
about.

She did.  She had a knowledge that he did not, a knowledge of
pain and
despair and a bond that transcended sex or speech or reality
itself. 
And he knew that she loved him.

He knew it because he suddenly loved her, fiercely, with a
tangled,
driving desperation that picked him up and carried him along,
out of his
control.

"Scully," he whispered.  "Scully, are you okay?"

Slowly, she blinked her eyes, and came back to herself.  "I
was just
remembering," she whispered.

"Remembering what?"

"The first time I knew I loved you."

She was looking at him timidly, from underneath her lashes. 
"It was
....a long time ago.  When we were out in the field.  You were
crouching
down, looking at something on the ground.  You looked at me,
and you had
that look in your eyes.  The one that you have now.  You
looked up at
me, not really seeing me, your mind working a million miles a
minute...and then you came out of that place, and saw me. 
Your
expression changed.  And I knew I wanted to see that look on
your face
when you were with me."

"What a bastard I must be," he whispered into her hair.  "Not
to let you
know how much I love you.  I do, Scully.  And not just now. 
I've always
loved you.  I know it."

"No, Mulder," Scully said sadly.  "No.  This isn't you and me. 
This
isn't us."  

Slowly, she began to push at his shoulders.  "Let me up,
Mulder."

"Scully," he said in an agonized voice.  "Scully, no."

"Let me up," she repeated, more forcefully, and Mulder did,
watching
helplessly as she began to put herself together.

"This isn't right," she said after a few minutes, buttoning
her blouse. 
"I'll just be taking advantage of you if we do this now,
Mulder.  You
don't realize the consequences.  If anyone finds out we were
involved,
Mulder, it would be the end of us.  And...I don't think I
could bear it,
Mulder, if you regretted making love to me if you...when
you..."

"I could never regret it," he whispered.

She shot a look at him.  "That's a chance I'm not willing to
take."

Mulder felt like his lungs were constricting.  He couldn't
breathe. 
God, he wanted her, he wanted her...and yet that wasn't all. 
He wanted
to tell her that she was wrong, that it was impossible that he
didn't
love her, that this was wrong.

"Scully, please," he said in a low, tortured voice.

"I'm going to work now," she said, shrugging into her jacket. 
"I'll
tell Skinner that you needed another day off."

She was halfway out the door when Mulder's voice made her
pause.  "I
would die for you," he said quietly.

"But I want you to live for me."

***

Okay, so amnesia is an over-used, soap-opera cliche, and for
that I beg
forgiveness.  I guess I've watched one too many soap operas in
my life. 
Good thing I gave the damn things up when I was 13.

I truly intended for this to be an RST, but Scully wasn't
cooperating. 
She just kinda took over the situation.  Absolutely refused to
sleep
with Mulder.  But as this story is nowhere near resolved, I'll
work on a
sequel.  We'll have a great soap-opera-esque blowout involving
an
aborted wedding, a crazy villain and an illegitimate
child...just
kidding.