TITLE:

TITLE: Bookends

AUTHOR: Cheddar (cheddar1013@yahoo.com)

SUMMARY: You can't go back into a world that was not yours

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: Requiem, The Unnatural, Pusher, Kitsunegari, Rain King, all things

ARCHIVING: Sure

DISCLAIMER: Mulder's gone, Scully's pregnant, and I'm still not making any money off this. Darn.

FEEDBACK: No. I do not want feedback. Don't send me any feedback at all (trying the whole reverse psychology thing on you guys…)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Wow it's been a while since I sat down to my little Toshiba and wrote a fic. This was inspired by my beloved Simon & Garfunkel, who will definitely warrant more stories in the future.

Love and many thanks to my lovely betas, TrekPhile47 and Sicily for putting up with me ;)

***********

She came home to find him writing at her desk.

"Good afternoon," she greeted. "What are you up to?"

He warded her off dismissingly with a shake of his head, and continued to write. Reluctantly, she obeyed, and began unpacking all her day's work from her black briefcase onto the bed.

"Here… you can use the desk," he mumbled, getting up out of the chair. She shook her head and smiled.

"No, that's okay- I just have to organize these files… it won't take but a minute. You can keep working," she responded, encouragingly.

"I was getting up anyway," he replied dryly, walking out the door.

"Mulder," she spoke sharply, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to meet his blank eyes with her concerned ones. The empty stare alone nearly brought her to tears.

"Never mind." The words barely escaped her mouth before she turned away in shame. He walked out of the room in silence.

***********

It had been three weeks since he was found. Who knows how long he was lying there before then. A trucker saw him in the woods behind a gas station and brought him to a hospital. The ER doctors diagnosed him with a concussion, a broken leg, and severe case of hypothermia.

The psychiatrist diagnosed him with amnesia.

They told her he needed to be in constant supervision until his mental condition stabilized. In a few hours he would go from being relatively polite and friendly to being severely suicidal. She was forced to put all cleaning supplies and knives where he couldn't find them.

*********

A week ago, in an effort to try and jog his memory, she brought him to the office. It felt like showing a tourist or a school group around, she though. She showed him the coffee room, the cafeteria, the lounge, Skinner's office, and finally their office.

She kept most things the same- the I Want to Believe poster was still up. The UFO newspaper clippings were still intact. The office furniture was arranged pretty much the same… except for the second desk that was brought down and placed in the opposite corner of hers.

Skinner was wonderful about the visit. He talked and joked with them, refusing to patronize his best agent, which was quite a difficult thing to do- especially when he would look at both of them with that vacant stare he was getting so good at using.

The day at the office went well, but he still gave no sign of remembering anything.

**********

Most of the time, she would come home from work to find him typing at the computer. With a warm greeting, she would begin chatting about what happened that day- what the cafeteria served, Skinner's latest crazy tie. The conversation would be one-way, until he finally looked up and issued a half-hearted remark, like 'That's good' or 'Oh okay'.

She pretended nothing was wrong.

She was smart. It didn't take an Oxford degree in psychology to know that you aren't supposed to treat people differently once you knew there was something wrong with them. People who find out they have cancer don't want to be handled with care for the rest of their lives. Homosexuals notice when people stop getting near them, afraid they might 'catch the disease that makes you gay'.

And people who have spent the last three months being tortured by extraterrestrials don't want you to look at them behind a wall of glass either.

**********

The doctors had told her he was not showing any violent tendencies, and that he would not pose a threat to others around him.

*********

One night, he was lying propped up on her bed, looking through her assortment of books, fascinated at all the different colors and sizes. He spent several hours in there, just looking at the covers. Eventually he began opening them up, feeling their pages, examining their words. As she watched him, hidden in the doorframe, she was amazed at how enthralled he was, almost like holding the books gave him solace.

Although she didn't want to disturb his peacefulness- since moments like these seemed to be rare these days- it was late, and she had to get changed into her night clothes.

"Mulder," she said, gently, entering the room. "Sorry to disturb you."

"S'okay," he slurred, still staring at the wonders he held in his hand.

"I just have to get dressed… it'll just take a sec…" Her voice trailed off. She carefully opened her bottom drawer and pulled out a soft, pale blue satin nightgown and laid in carefully on the bed across from him. Slowly, she took off her clothes, until she stood there naked in front of him. He looked up at her as she slipped cautiously into the nightgown Her round tummy was now clearly visible, and made wearing it just a little uncomfortable.

She looked over at him, hoping maybe this had sparked something inside him. Maybe he remembered now…

Stepping onto the bed, she looked directly into his eyes, and moved closer to him. Her eyelids dropped as she felt his warm, familiar breath on her face. She pressed her lips to his, but he did not kiss back. She moved closer, putting her arms around his waist. Please, she begged silently. Please remember this…

As she slipped her tongue past his lips, something deep inside him snapped.

With one swift motion, he threw her off of him, sending her falling off of the bed and hitting the ground hard. She cried out in pain on contact, and instinctively her hand moved on top of her stomach.

He could not believe what he had just done, and could not bear to look at her. In horror, he whispered, "I'm so sorry…" and fled the room, leaving her lying on the floor, alone.

The next day, the doctor told her the baby seemed unharmed. He did not, however, say anything about her.

************

Four days elapsed before they made any communication at all. She would come home late to find him asleep. She would make dinner, and leave the portion which she did not eat on the table. Sometime during the night, he would wake up to eat and watch old sitcoms. And when she woke up in the morning, he would back in bed in the guest bedroom. Their new schedule seemed to work well.

On the fourth day, however, things changed. It was eleven o'clock, and the sound of the television woke her up. She wasn't sleeping very soundly anyway, but enough to get by. Until the laughing from the Honeymooners dragged her out of her peaceful slumber.

She pushed herself out of the bed and groggily slipped her feet into her slippers- the blue fuzzy ones her mother had given her for Christmas last year. Pulling her robe tighter around her, she shuffled down the hall, trying to shake off the sleep that was still encumbering her.

Her kitchen's cold tiles tingled her warm feet as she ambled softly towards the living room. Careful not to make a sound, she walked up to the back of the couch.

"Couldn't sleep," the scratchy voice from the couch murmured softly, instinctively knowing she was there. The sudden noise startled her.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" she asked softly, walking around to the front of the couch.

"I'm fine, Scully," he dismissed, focusing more on the television than on her. Those words- the words she had used to push him away a countless amount of times before- hurt her in a way she didn't think possible. It wasn't the fact that he said them, but the fact that they weren't true. Saying he was fine was almost a taunting of what wasn't true.

She sat down beside him, careful not to get too close. He moved his feet so she could sit down, but didn't say anything. The talking and laughter from the television didn't fill the empty void of silence, but instead put the meager, thin strain of another world's happiness where theirs should be. The room was noise… and yet silent at the same time.

And the silence hurt.

"Sorry I woke you," he mumbled. The statement was more something a boy would say when his mother was chastising him for forgetting his manners rather than a real apology. She knew he really didn't mean it.

"Brrr… it's freezing in here. Aren't you cold?" she asked.

He shook his head. "You don't have to stay up with me. You need to get rest for the um… the…." But he could not bring himself to say the word 'baby'.

With a small sigh, she turned her focus to the television, pretending to be engrossed with Jackie Gleason . In the three weeks he had been home, he still had not directly referred to her pregnancy.

A few moments passed. The show ended, followed by a series of commercials, which he promptly put on mute.

"Do you remember that time," she began slowly, a smile creeping up on her face," when you took me to the park to play baseball? We stayed for hours hitting balls… you said it was for my birthday, but I don't think that was the reason you asked me there…"

She turned to look at him, hoping to provoke a memory from his brain, hoping to make him smile, or at least making him remember what it was to smile.

Avoiding eye contact, he shook his head curtly.

"Or that case we had in Kroner, Kansas about the man who could control the weather? It ended up more like a love story than an X-File," she said with a stiff laugh. No response

"How about that time when we were on that case about the man who could push people to do things- Mode- Modell I think his name was-" Once again, he shook his head. She tried again.

"You went face to face with him- you had on a bullet proof vest and I didn't want you to go but you did-" Pursing his lips tightly, he shook his head.

"And then a year later we met his sister who could do the same thing" he closed his eyes tightly as her voice got fast and faster. "She made you think it was her but it was me, it was me standing there, Mulder, and you held up your gun-"

"STOP!" he erupted, exploding off the couch and, for the first time since he was back, staring her straight into her eyes. "Can't you see? I can't remember. I can't remember! Get that into your head, damnit! Stop trying to pretend everything is fine, because it isn't. I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am, I don't know who you are. I don't remember anything about the FBI or the X-Files or whatever you say they are," he was out of breath, and stopped for a moment, trying to avoid the eyes which he knew he had ejected hurt into. "I am not Fox Mulder, no matter how much you want me to be. I mean… maybe I was Fox Mulder… but I'm not anymore," his voice softened. "You have to learn to say goodbye."

With that, he hung his shoulders in despair, carrying with him just as much pain and grief as the woman he had just addressed.

The words he spoke crashed recklessly into her now trembling body. She had already said goodbye, a few months ago. She had already given up all hope and come to the realization that she would walk in this life alone, and die alone. She had already gone through the grief one feels after losing someone.

When he had returned however, all the feelings of abandonment and loss dissolved in a moment's time. She saw him, and instantly it was like the whole eight years they had been together was back, like the past five months had never happened. Vigorously and tirelessly, she set out to make things right.

It didn't take long though to discover the horrible truth. His body was back, but his love, his emotions, his beliefs, his charisma, and his passions were gone. His memory was gone, and without a memory a person had no past.

She had learned this early on- within the first few days that he was back. But it was just now that she was coming to accept that.

They had stripped him of his identity and of his life, and for this she mourned. They did not kill him, but they might as well have. They could not go on like this any longer. He would eventually move away from DC to try and start his life over again. He had nothing tying him down here. He had no feelings for her.

Overcome with despair and a realistically bleak look at her once bright future, she couldn't fight her body any more . The clock on the table read half-past two. The soothing, rhythmic tapping of the clock seemed to tug on her body, telling it to sleep. She carefully laid down her head on the pillow, still warm from his body, and softly fell into a deep slumber. She was too weary to cry.

After washing his face, he shuffled slowly into her bedroom, still trying to cope with what he had just said. He had just met this woman three weeks ago, yet everyone told him he had known her for eight years. He was also the father of the child she was carrying, something he could not fathom. She was in love with him. It was obvious someone had a life here that needed desperately to be continued. But that someone was not him.

It frustrated him to the point of madness that he could not remember who he was. He had no recollection of anything- his childhood, his teenage years, his parents. The only times he could remember were the past three weeks. It was like he had never existed before then. It was like he was just being born

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he sat on the side of the bed that had once had so much more meaning to him than now, his head in his hands. Maybe tomorrow he could look around for a job or something; sitting inside all day made him restless.

He looked up at the clock one the nightstand through tired eyes to see what it said. Beside the clock was a dark blue mug.

Tea.

This startled him. His mind slowly spelled out the letters t-e-a. Tea. Why tea? That was the mug he had used for coffee yesterday morning.

Come on, Mulder. I'll make you some tea.

This was even more baffling. She had not said this to him in the past three weeks. He did not remember her saying this, and yet…

Do you ever have those moments where your life gets incredibly clear? Where time seems to expand?

He was now frightened. It felt as if someone was putting these phrases into his head. He didn't know where they were coming from, and he didn't know how to make them stop.

It says a lot. It says a lot, a lot.

Almost immediately, a blurred vision of him sitting on a black couch late in the night stirred around his brain. The colors separated and slowly became clear… his legs were propped up on the coffee table, a mug beside his feet. He turned to his side and saw her, leaning her head to one side, asleep. He reached out to touch her hair…

"Scully," he whispered, in a frightened tone, hoping she was not yet asleep. "Scully…" In fear and excitement of what his beautiful mind was telling him, he darted to the door to find her. "Scully do you remember the time when…"

*********

"Old friends
 Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears"
-Simon and Garfunkel ('Old Friends/Bookends')