TITLE: Repression

AUTHOR: Jillian

ARCHIVE: If you want it, sure. E-mail me so I can be proud.

RATING: PG-13 for adult language and adult themes.

FEEDBACK: Yes! It helps me write faster! Post it here or email me at JILLIBEAN@aol.com

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mulder or Scully or the X-Files, or Ed Jerse... Wow, I own nothing. It's a real shame. CC owns it all, along with FOX and 1013. I'm not making any cash off of them, I receive all my payment in stock... Kidding, kidding. Don't sue.

SUMMARY: Mulder contemplates the events of "Never Again." Companion piece to "Rebellion," and I'll warn you--angst ahead!

AUTHORS NOTES: This is a companion piece to my fic "Rebellion," which is Scully POV of the same events. You don't need it to understand this, but I'd love if you read that, too. This is angsty, folks, not like some of the fluff I've posted lately. Of course, we can see that little glimmer of MSR even this early on... The reason I don't have them admitting their love outwardly to one another in these two pieces is because I don't believe it could have happened that way, so if your going to flame me, don't do it because it wasn't fluffy enough... You'll be wasting valuable finger energy! ;) Enjoy!

* * * * * * *

"This is my life." She says, matter of factly.

Aren't I a part of it?

"Yes, but its..." I don't know what to say. The look on her face tells me I can't argue her on this, and I can't. It's another Dana Scully scientific fucking fact--it IS her life. Maybe, maybe I just somehow want to be a part of it.

I don't know what the Hell I want. I want to be with her, but there's something more important, my work. It is *my* work. Sure, she is a part of it, a major part of it, but it is my crusade. I don't want it to be her life like it is mine. Not out of some selfish need for attention, but because I don't want her to know the pain I feel. The X-Files, the truth--they are the albatross around my neck. I feel like I will never be free from them. Inside of me, that little piece says maybe she could be my freedom.

But I push it down, I repress those feelings. We're partners. And I am obsessed with my work. She shouldn't have to deal with this, I've got her in more trouble than I ever wanted. After her abduction, I was torn apart. I did stupid things, because it was my fault. And if she didn't come back to me, hell, I didn't want to live. In a way I wanted to be murdered. According to Scully, and the God that I don't have time to believe in, suicide would have sent me to hell. If it existed, Scully wouldn't have been there. That wasn't a place I wanted to be.

Yet as I look at her, my eyes dart down to the picture of Samantha on my desk. I cannot forget my search, my life's work. She doesn't know it the way I do, she doesn't feel the pain I feel. I couldn't stand to hurt her anymore. I don't want her to know my emptiness. I know she lost her sister, like I lost mine, but it's not the same. Nothing is like Sam and I. Nothing.

In the same way, nothing is like Scully and I. We have this weird relationship. Inside sometimes I think I love her, but the X-Files are what I've devoted myself too. At time like this, I *know* I love her... Or else I wouldn't be so hurt. I didn't think Scully did things like this. I didn't think a stupid desk could make her go out and risk her life for a little fun.

I didn't think Dana Katherine Scully went out for an evening of drinks, tattoos, and casual sex.

Of course, maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. Just because she slept at his house, doesn't mean they had to have had sex. Hell, who am I kidding? She's a beautiful woman, no man could resist her. Somehow, I find the strength to do it every day. To not just tell her I want here and now on my desk. *My* desk. It's my work. I don't want to drag her down with me... I feel horrible enough she's gotten a reputation of being Mrs. Spooky.

Of course she slept with him. I have no right to be upset... She doesn't belong to me. Whatever Scully does in her spare time doesn't concern me... Who am I to say Scully doesn't do casual sex? Hell, she could be a dominatrix for all I know. (Now is not the time nor place to think *that* way, Fox) It's *her* life. Somewhere inside, I desperately want it to be part mine. I want her on the X-Files. I want her by my side every minute of the day... But I would only hurt her. How could I commit while I have the X-Files holding me down? How could I give her everything she deserves?

Who am I to believe she'd even want me? I'm not a murderer. Maybe she only likes the dangerous type... Maybe Scully has a wild side. One I want to see... One I don't deserve. I've hurt her, and that hurts me... But still, it is my quest. *They* put her here.

But *she* decided to stay.

Then again, she also decided to get tattooed and screw a murderer. I know I'm being crude... But isn't what she did crude? Getting drunk, tattooed, and screwed by some guy? I mean, I'll admit she went out with him to the bar and whatnot, but she barely knew the guy! It takes some psycho a couple of dates to get her in the sack?

Why haven't I ever taken Scully drinking?

I always thought Dana Scully was a saint. Prim and proper. There were so many times I dreamed of changing that, so *many* times. And I never have, but some tattooed psychopath did? Maybe, maybe she didn't sleep with him. Then again, she came back with a tattoo, how about a little casual sex with a stranger on the side? She's a human being, she's not going to turn down sex. Lord knows neither of us have had a love life in quite some time.

Maybe I'm wrong about that, too, after being wrong about so much. Maybe there's more I don't know about Scully. Maybe she's way more wild than I thought. Could that be why she did this? To show me she isn't at my disposal? So that I won't tell her what to do anymore? So I won't book her autopsies? I should have listened to her. Maybe she wouldn't have done this, and I wouldn't be so distraught. So hurt. I can't admit it, but I love her. I can't let myself. We're friends, we're partners, it wouldn't be right. The search for the truth would keep me from giving her all of me.

"Where's the file on the kidnapping?" She asks suddenly. Plainly. Emotionless.

I get it for her and hand it to her. I look up and we make eye contact. Nothing is said, we just look. She's upset. I don't know what I did or how I did it, but I know I made her upset. Was it teasing her? The desk? The nameplate? All I do is offer a silent apology with my eyes. She silently accepts.

Our relationship is based on silence. Inside, we have *so* much to say, but we dare not say it. For the most complex or the simplest reasons, certain things are said only with our eyes. Her eyes are the windows to her soul. I could lose myself in them... I do lose myself in them. I can tell from the look of hers she accepts my apology as long as I never bring this up again. The look in her eyes implies it means more than I think, but I also believe I see a hint of embarrassment somewhere. I don't know why she's upset, but I won't bring it up...

All just because her eyes told me not to.

-end-

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