Author: little Alex
Title:  It's All Happening Again
Date:  October, 1999
Disclaimer:  None of them are mine, but CC's, 1013's, and 20th Century Fox,
blah, blah, blah
Feedback:  You kidding?  I live for this stuff
Spoiler:  RatB; is that still a spoiler?
Summary:  Mulder's first person p.o.v., somewhat addressed to Scully; stuff
between the '/*' and '*/' are thoughts from that. other part of Mulder's
brain.  Yes, he's talking to himself.  Are you actually surprised?
Author's Note:  Extreme gratitude to Barbara Webb, CW, and Carol


It's all happening again.

I sit on the floor, looking at the closed door, where Krycek - /*Alex!*/ -
has just made his exit, and that's the only thought in my head.  My fingers
still around the gun, I lift my hand to examine the weapon.  Funny that a
few minutes of conversation can add so many pounds to the gun.  Since
neither of us has used it - though he might as well had - it's still fully
loaded.  I'd know; it's my gun, after all.  My other hand seeking support on
the sofa, I stand up and put the gun back onto the coffee table.

I'm not going to touch the corner of my mouth.  I'm not going to press the
heel of my palm against my cheek and wish that he has kissed closer.  I'm
not going to find a Kleenex and wipe off the kiss.  And I'm especially not
going to run into the bathroom and wash off the faint smell of his skin.

I won't do any of these things because they'll be equally useless.  Wishing
that he'd touched his mouth onto mine won't make his earlier kisses - /*rain
of kisses, shower of kisses; on your mouth, on your forehead, on your chest,
on your navel*/ - anymore vivid, and no amount of water can wash away the
memories of his musk on me.  Sometimes, my faithful memory is the best and
worst thing that ever happened to me

I hate my memory; how perfectly it continually renders all the events in my
life.  Every single detail - /*the slight thuds of pencils as they hit the
office ceiling*/ - from the day that Samantha disappeared from my childhood
to the day he - /*and we all know which 'he' we're talking about now, don't
we?*/ - disappeared from my bed, the faint smell of burnt Morleys butts
still weaving around my nostrils, is contained in this brain of mine. 
Please, can I for one second, only one second, forget every moment of my
life?  Forget about my father's very probable involvement in the abduction
of his own daughter.  Forget about my mother's mysterious connection to the
cancer bastard.  Forget about the connection between that bastard and the
man I lov- I obsess on.  Forget about his involvement in the death of my
father or Melissa Scully.

/*Your beautiful Scully, what will she think about this?  What will she
*do*?  Can you give her up?  Her loyalty despite her skepticism and sharp
intelligence, her rational 'faith' in science with her equally 'irrational'
faith in her Catholic God?  Her friendship?  Her *love*?  Can you?  Would
you?  Do you truly want to forget everything?  Even her?*/

Forget everything.  Forget that I've cost him his arm - /*the horror, the
pain of it.  If you've trusted him, if you've only trusted him.  That
muscular arm, its solid strength around you, with the tempting curve of its
biceps to the agile fingers, dancing on your skin, is forever lost because
of you.  You!*/ - his left arm.  Forget that I've ever grown up.  Forget the
past twenty-five years.  And yes, even forget you, Scully, my partner in
everything except blood, painful as it will be.  But would it be painful?  I
wouldn't have known you in the first place.  /*Can you really bear that? 
Never having known her?*/  No, I can't forget, and not for you.  Oh, no, not
for you.  Forgive me, Scully, please forgive me.  You ask for absolution
from your priest, and I can only ask absolution from you and you alone.

I want to remember every single part of my life, every second of every hour.
  From the first few months we spent together during our 'budding'
relationship, when he was still the green agent, to the weeks in Tunguska -
/*you screamed, you yelled, you threatened, and you begged.  But you
idiotically did it all to "Krycek."  *Krycek*.  Of course it never had any
effect.  And yet. yet one cracked moan of "Alex" brought back all the
tenderness that you thought you've lost from him when he became the rat*/ - 
I want to remember every torturous minute of my life.  Is want the accurate
word?  No, I *need* to remember, for without his image haunting my mind, my
life is- is.  But he's impossible to forget now, isn't he?  Every time it
might finally start happening, every time that I can wake up without dreams
upon dreams of his mouth on me, his cock in me - /*your cock in *him*,
fucking him raw or making love to him, always driving the both of you to
pleasure beyond words.  Coming inside him, marking him, knowing that you've
taken his virgin ass*/ - he casually saunters back into my life as if our
relationship has remained whole and untainted in ways that he hasn't.

Ignorance is bliss.  Ignorance about the intricate conspiracies of our
government, about the signs of the extraterrestrials, about their invasion
and their plans to colonize our world.  Ignorance is oblivion.  And of
course, I only need his little kiss on the cheek, the salt of his sweat
pressed almost against my mouth, to be convinced yet again of my faith in
the conspiracies, the alien presence - my whole adult life.

I want him; I need him; I crave him.  My heart belonged to the search for
Truth, for Samantha; and to you, Sc-Dana.  Can I call you Dana?  Sorry that
I made you call me Mulder.  I didn't know then how nice the word Fox could
sound when said with love.  But my heart; oh, it only needed to see him to
fly away into his hands.  Of course, being the 'kind' man that he is, he
gave it back to you and my older passions.  Do you know that you still have
my heart?  From that first moment you stepped into our basement office, it
was yours.  But you didn't want it then, and you don't want it now.  And
then. and then he noticed my soul, stole it, and kept it for himself.  He
owns it now, my soul.  No, he *is* my soul.  And I can never forget him.

Every feverish kiss of his has been branded onto my skin.  The bite marks
might as well have been scars.  Sprinkled all over my mouth is the slightly
salty taste of him; the bitter yet lightly sweet spice of his come still
lingers at the tip of my tongue.  /*And people wonder why you like sunflower
seeds.*/  All the murmurs of "I love you" against my ear when he was
half-asleep feel like they have been said only minutes ago.  The very feel
of him carved onto my heart and engraved onto my bones: I can finally
understand your religious faith.  I still don't believe in it, but I
understand thoroughly the concept of guilt, for Samantha and for him.  Yet
without remorse, what is guilt?  The priest can't bless a sinner whey they
both know completely well that the sinner  will continue his behavior.

Dana, forgive me for this one failure and fault that I'll never try to
correct.  Alex, come back and let me commit all of you into my memory once
again.  Don't leave me here, alone in my apartment, because I need you, for
my- our quest and myself.  No, I not only need you - for the first time and
forever thereafter, Alex, I love you. Please never leave me again.

The End