From: Catherine A Siemann Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Dreamless 1/1 Date: Thu, 2 May 1996 12:55:38 -0400 ROMANCE ALERT: This is a romantic vignette. If you don't like them, you won't like this. You have been warned. I have been writing and posting fanfic in the Forever Knight universe for nearly a year now, but this is my first XF story, and thus, appropriately, a Mulder & Scully first time story. It's set right after Irresistible. I'd love your comments! Dreamless (1/1) by Catherine Siemann cas47@columbia.edu Disclaimers: These aren't my characters and they probably wouldn't do any of this. (But they should!) They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. ********** She hadn't wanted him to know how it had affected her. She hadn't wanted him to know how much Donnie Pfaster's twisted psyche had terrified her -- how his desecration of the dead had taken her to a place that all the other horrors they had faced together had not, how it had brought her close to the threshold of some memories she was not yet ready to acknowledge. But in those minutes after they found her, she had collapsed into Mulder's arms, hiding her fears no longer, but feeling safe as long as he held her. ********** To Scully's great relief, they were able to get on a flight that evening. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and Minnesota as possible before she slept, and had been contemplating asking Mulder how he felt about an all-night drive. But she'd be able to sleep in her own bed that night, and that was a relief. To sleep. She hoped she'd be able to sleep. Every time her eyes had closed for a moment on the flight, she'd seen that form bending over her, the face changing, shifting, from Pfaster's eerily wholesome face with its maniacal eyes, to those other faces and shapes she had seen, shifting in perspective, as he'd attacked her. She'd jerked upright, suddenly awake, and immediately began chatting with Mulder, who'd seemed absorbed in his in-flight magazine, but responded without losing a beat. The third time it had happened, though, Mulder was dozing himself, and she'd had to pretend that everything was okay. She'd finally rung for the flight attendant, on some pretext or other, but by the time the call was answered, Mulder was awake again and she had taken refuge in asking him, once again, his predictions for the upcoming baseball season. As they landed at Dulles, she felt a new surge of panic. What had seemed like such a good idea, sleeping in her own bed, was fraught with its own terrors, now. Maybe a midwestern hotel room, in the hours near dawn, and knowing that Mulder slept in the adjoining room, would have been better. They filed off the plane, silently. "Where are you parked?" he asked, finally, as they made their way through the concourse. "I'm in lot D." "Oh," she thought for a moment. "I took a cab, actually. I was in a hurry to get back out there, and I didn't want to deal with parking." "I'll give you a ride, then," he said, and smiled at her. "It's okay, Scully. You've been through a lot. If you want to talk about it any more, I'm here." "Thanks," she said, and fell silent again as they made their way to the car. When he'd gotten near to her street, she blurted out suddenly, "Mulder, I don't want to be alone tonight." He looked at her warily, one eye still on traffic. "I mean, would you mind crashing on my sofabed tonight? I'd feel better knowing you were there." "Absolutely -- I mean I wouldn't mind," he said. "I think it's a good idea." ********** The sofabed hadn't been used in a while, and it creaked a little as they opened it. "Let me just check this out," Mulder said, sitting cautiously on the edge of the mattress. "Sometimes these things aren't so great, and you're better off sleeping on the couch itself." "Hah," said Scully, who had disappeared to the back hall, and reemerged with her arms piled high with a comforter and pillows. Only her light eyes and her red hair showed above them. "I'll have you know that my sofa bed is highly rated." "By who?" "Friends who've come to stay with me." Mulder raised an eyebrow. "If you say so." He leaned back suddenly at full length, and to Scully's eyes that length was considerable. She was relieved to see that he didn't hang off the end. "Hey, it *is* fairly comfortable," he said. "Besides," Scully said, tossing her light but bulky load at her partner, "abnormally tall people like you don't *fit* on just any couch." "Okay," said Mulder, catching the bedding and feigning being knocked back over. "Hey, if this is a sleepover party, where's the popcorn and cocoa?" "In the kitchen. I'll pop the popcorn, you make the cocoa." ********** A few hours later, she'd made her laughing way to bed. She had forgotten Mulder could be so funny when he wanted to be, and he'd found an old Monty Python videotape she didn't even know she had. She half suspected it wasn't hers, and that he carried it in his suitcase for just this sort of occasion -- for his own sleepless nights. She didn't feel afraid anymore, but he made her promise to sleep with the bedroom door open, anyway, so that he'd hear her if she cried out in the night. She fell asleep almost instantly. When sleep came, she didn't know. But a few hours later, she'd had one of her nightmares again, one of the worst yet. Donnie Pfaster was leaning over her, laughing, and behind him were some strange, unearthly faces, and they were laughing, too, horribly, and she had the feeling that her body was not all in one piece anymore, but that her insides had been -- She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart still pounding. There was a light in the living room . . . why? Mulder! Mulder was there, she thought, with a great sense of relief. But as she made her way into the living room, her eyes blinking against the accustomed light, she realized that her "protector" had fallen asleep with the lights on, and laughed softly. "Mulder," she whispered, sitting down on the side of the bed. "Mulder, wake up. It's me. I had a nightmare and I need to . . . " Live with it, she thought. What were you thinking, Dana? You handle everything else alone, all the nightmares and all the fears. You usually hide them so well -- from him, from everyone. Except today. She sat there softly laughing at herself, her self-mockery overcoming the haunted sense with which the dream had left her. She looked down at her partner, his dark hair tousled and his long form curled up under the covers. From the little bit of his neck and shoulder she could see, she could tell he was wearing a white t-shirt. He looked peaceful, innocent, and just a little bit ridiculous, as sleepers do, and somehow having him there was very reassuring. She studied him for a moment -- the way a piece of his hair fell down over his eyes, and was blown up and down by the regular breathing, the way he curled in on himself in his sleep . . . . Scully didn't want to go back into the dark bedroom by herself, so she lay down next to him, on top of the covers, prepared to listen to his breathing until dawn. The next thing she knew, she was hearing his voice in her ear. "Scully?" She jumped up into a sitting position. "I'm sorry," he whispered," I just didn't expect to find you there. I was startled. Lie back down, it's okay." "No," she said, "I've disturbed you. I'll go back into the bedroom now. I had another nightmare, and you were asleep, and I felt better --" Scully stopped herself. She had been going to say "being near you." She rose to go, but he half-rose himself, and laid a hand on her shoulder "I wish you wouldn't go," he said softly. "I'd really like it if you stayed." His dark eyes, still heavy with sleep, met her light ones for a moment, and she looked away. "Okay," she whispered. "I think I can go back to sleep. Can you?" "Sure," he mumbled, as they lay back down. Awkwardly, she nestled against him, as he slipped an arm protectively around her, her red hair forming a brilliant contrast to his white t-shirt and dark hair. "Go to sleep, Dana," he whispered. "What was that?" she asked. "I said, Go to sleep, Scully." "No, you didn't. You called me Dana." "I do that sometimes." "Yeah, like twice a year on special occasions." He grinned, sleepily. "Well, I guess this is a special occasion, then." "It's certainly not an everyday occurence." She nestled closer, more comfortably. A moment later he'd shifted his weight. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I think my right leg has fallen asleep." "It's all right, Mulder. I'm going back to the bedroom now. I think the nightmare has gone." She stirred again, to get up. "No," he said. "Don't go." His eyes met hers once more, and this time she did not look away. Instead, she leaned towards him. Their lips met, softly, and they pulled away. When they looked at each other, both saw something they'd secretly hoped was there, but had never been able to admit to themselves. Then they kissed again, more insistently, and his arms were around her and they were kissing with all the feelings they'd denied to themselves over the last two years. . . . "Are you certain this is what you want?" he asked her, as his hand stroked her shoulder, and down the side of her arm. "We can stop if you're not certain." "Don't you dare," she whispered, as she gently slid his hand to a more intimate place. "Don't you dare stop." By the time they fell asleep again, it was daylight, and his white t-shirt lay on the floor, next to her nightgown, and Scully's only dreams were pleasant ones . . . . THE END