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Title: In Dreams Summary: What dreams may come... Dedication: To Isa, for the idea "Shit." Mulder cursed as the keys he had thrown slipped down behind the couch. There were things down there he really did not want to have to deal with just because he had been in a bad mood. It had been a long, boring, exhausting case. It had been hot, sticky, and no time to even cool off in the hotel's swimming pool. The local police department had not been helpful, and once it was clear that there had been no werewolves, or rather, werecats involved they had made moves to leave. Unfortunately the PD had other ideas, and they had spent a further three days traipsing through fields looking for signs of a serial murderer's seventh victim. That morning, however, they had stumbled across the remains of the serial murderer herself, and Lieutenant... whatever he was called had finally deigned to let them leave. Mulder was annoyed. He was tired. He was just about ready to strangle anyone or anything who kept him from his bed. The phone rang. He carefully weighed up the options in his head. It could be Scully, in which case he would answer it. It could be anyone else, in which case he wouldn't. He checked the display. Number Witheld. The Gunmen. He pulled the plug and headed for the bedroom, shedding his clothing as he did so. He desperately wanted a shower, but sleep seemed so much more inviting. He pulled off his second sock, hit the lightswitch, and collapsed on to the bed. "Honey?" The voice was soft and gentle in his ear. He knew that voice. He smiled, not wanting to open his eyes just yet. "Honey, wake up." Small hands began to shake his left shoulder gently. "Hmmm?" He feigned half-sleep, although in truth he felt more rested than he had any right to. "Fox, did you forget?" The voice was still soft, but now there was a teasing tone mixed in with it. "It's Michael's big game today. We need to get going soon if we want to be able to park near the field." He moved fast, reaching up and grabbing his wife's arm before she had a chance to react. She laughed as she bounced on to the matress, and squirmed as he wrapped both arms around her waist. "Happy Anniversary," he whispered into her hair. "Why do you make things so difficult?" she asked. "When my friends are complaining about their husbands I can never join in. The best I ever manage is 'he didn't wash the car last weekend.' You even remember anniversaries." She swatted ineffectually at his arms. "I did too wash the car last weekend!" he protested. Her only answer was another burst of laughter as he let go of her with one arm and pulled her over to his side of the bed as he struggled to reach under the bed with his free hand. After a moment of unsuccessful groping he found what he was looking for, and presented it to his wife. She turned and grinned at him before setting to work peeling the tape from the immaculately wrapped little parcel. He knew she would know what was in it already, but he didn't care. He watched in anticipation as the velvet box fell on to the duvet. She picked it up and carefully opened it. Although he couldn't see her face he could sense her smile as she looked at the tiny silver lovebird charm nestled in the velvet. It was a tradition between them - he had given her a charm every year for the twelve years they had been married, to attach to the bracelet he had given her when Michael was born. And he knew he would go on giving them to her even after the bracelt was too heavy to wear. "Mommy!" The shrill little voice cut through the silence, followed by the sound of little feet running up the stairs. "Billy stole my bear!" The door crashed open, revealing their four-year-old daughter, her bottom lip stuck out in an indignant pout. "I'll be right there Rosie," her mother reassured her. "Why don't you go find your shoes?" The little girl pouted, but ran off. "Ten minutes, OK?" Mulder nodded, and let her go, but caught her hand again at the last minute. "I love you, Dana." She smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. "I love you too. Ten minutes." She glanced pointedly at the clock, and left the room. Mulder sighed, and leaned back on the pillows. Life was good. Life was bad. He'd had that dream again, and had laid in bed dozing happily, safe in the knowledge that his alarm clock would wake him. He had dozed for an hour or so, before wondering why there was no ringing. Looking at the clock, he realized he must have forgotten to set the alarm. He would never have slept through it. He had run out of coffee. It didn't really matter, though, because he had broken his last remaining coffee mug on his mad dash through the kitchen. There was nothing he wanted to eat, despite his growling stomach, so he would have to stop off on his way to the office and make himself even later than he already was. And now his celphone was ringing, and he couldn't find it. He unearthed it from under a pile of last night's discarded clothes and stabbed at the "call" button, hoping that whoever it was was still there. "Ugh." It was a good attempt considering his morning so far. "Mulder?" Scully. "Is that you?" "Yeah," he rubbed his eye. "Where are you, Mulder? It's ten o'clock." Oh. Right. That. "I overslept," he fought desperately for something else to say. "I'll be there in half an hour." "OK," she sounded distracted. Almost too distracted. "Mulder, what's the date?" He checked his watch. "February 23rd." Ah. "Thanks. See you later." Mulder listened to the dial tone, and let a smile escape on to his face. He slipped the phone into his pocket with one hand and grabbed the small, wrapped box from his coffee table with the other. "Mulder, it's beautiful. It's so... unusual." "You don't like it." She had been impressed that he had remembered her birthday. After seven years he had decided to really make an effort. "I love it." She slipped the bracelet out of the box, picked up the tiny lovebird charm and set about attaching it. "It's just not what I would have expected, somehow." "What would you have expected?" he asked. "Oh, I don't know. A little sliver man? A tiny flying saucer? I'm seeing a whole new side to you, Mulder." She reached up and kissed him quickly on his cheek. He was stunned. If he'd known the reaction he would get he would have managed to buy her more that one birthday present during their partnership. He struggled to find his voice. "You want a hand with that?" He gestured towards the bracelet. "Thanks." She handed it to him and kept her arm extended. He fumbled with the clasp, managing to pop it open on the third try. He wrapped it around her wrist and fastened it quickly. She had a tiny mole on the inside of her wrist. He'd never noticed that before. She smiled up at him briefly before returning to her desk. "You want coffee?" she asked. He didn't hesitate. "Yes," he replied. "Yes, I do." It had been a long while since he had looked forward to sleep. In the past it had been filled with visions of monsters, suffering and death. But he had recognized this new dream for four nights in the last week, and he wasn't afraid. Nothing would spoil his dream. He settled his head on to the pillows and closed his eyes. He picked up his coffee mug and watched his wife appreciatively from across the kitchen. The sun streamed in through the glass panels in the back door, making the skirt of her light summer dress semi-transparent. She was making up the children's lunches, and her shoulder length auburn hair bobbed as she reached up into cupboards or down into the refrigerator. She turned suddenly and caught him staring. "What?" She checked her dress for stains. "Did I spill something?" Mulder shrugged. "Nope. Just checking out my wife." She laughed. "You're hopeless, you know that?" "And I hope I never change," he only just caught the paper bag she threw in his direction. "Are you still OK to take Rosie to nursery?" she asked. "Of course," he drained the last of his coffee in one gulp and grabbed his keys from the table. "I'll go get her ready now." "Have a good day!" she called, swatting him playfully with a towel as he swooped in for a goodbye kiss. The day had been pretty quiet, and to his surprise Mulder was able to get away from the station by mid afternoon. He loved his work, and couldn't imagine another job being as rewarding, or, come to think of it, fun. It had been almost ten years since Henry Clark, a family friend who worked for a local radio station had mentioned that the network who owned the station were looking for a consultant for a series of sci-fi documentaries. He had applied and wowed the selection panel with his comprehensive knowledge of research into diverse and little known fields of paranormal study. Now he travelled into DC four days of every week where he was in demand not only for his own company, but networks from LA, Canada and Europe. The panel had asked him how he had come to be so familiar with so many different topics relating to the supernatural. He had shrugged, and said it interested him. Only a few people knew the truth. Only those close enough to trust completely knew how his mother had held him after the death of his sister, trying to find an answer to his questions of why it had happened to her. Why, out of all the children on Martha's Vineyard had she been the one to step out in front of the drunk-driven truck. His mother had told him what she could, that she didn't know the reason, and that no one in this world did. These things happened. And with the naivety of a twelve-year-old child he had begun to look for the answer outside the normal realms of "this world." By the time he was fourteen, he was hooked. He no longer expected to find the meaning of life in his research, but the subject fascinated him. His parents, at first concerned with his fanaticism, began to see it as a harmless hobby, and left him to it. His degree in abnormal psychology allowed him to research even further, using his papers on supernatural experience to gain his doctorate. He had worked in research for a further three years before he was offered the consultancy job. It was during that time he had met Dana. She was a family doctor at the practice which had agreed to let him collect control data for his experiments. Mulder pulled the car in to the driveway of their home and popped the trunk. He retrieved the bags of shopping he had picked up on the way home, unlocked the front door and made his way to the kitchen. "Dad? Is that you?" The voice of his eldest son drifted down the stairs. "Yeah." Mulder set the bags on the counter before going upstairs. "I finished early." A thought struck him. "Aren't you supposed to be at ball practice?" "They canceled it. Coach Palmer hurt his back," he pushed open the door to his son's room. Michael was sat at his desk, apparently working. "Watcha doin'?" Mulder sat on the crumpled racing car bedspread. "Homework," his son confirmed. "Need any help?" The boy turned round. "It's a family tree. Ms McArthur wants us to get it done before tomorrow." Mulder leaned over his son's shoulder and saw the outline of a tree, with several squares drawn carefully inside the shape. His own name, Dana's, Michael's, Billy's and Rosie's were already in place. "How far back do you have to go?" Mulder questioned. "Just to our grandparents. Did Grandma have a middle name?" He poised his pencil above a blank square. "Elizabeth." Michael carefully printed the name. "What about Grandpa?" he asked. "He didn't have a middle name." "Why not?" "I don't know. Maybe my Grandpa didn't think he needed one," he offered. Michael grinned. "Thanks Dad." Mulder was beginning to wonder if children served any positve purpose at all. As a reprimand for the werecats case he and Scully had been assigned to a kidnapping case, where the only witness was a ten-year-old street kid, who wouldn't talk unless given money. Mulder had emptied his pockets, knowing it would be taken off the kid again on his release from the station, but all the $4.23 had bought him was the information that a white van had been parked outside the apartment complex on the morning of the kidnapping. He had briefly considered giving Scully his PIN number and getting her to run to the bank, but she was still annoyed about the werecats, and, while he was pretty sure he trusted her, he couldn't rule out the possibility of finding his account drained on his next balance. She wouldn't steal his money, of course, but she would have no qualms about taking her revenge. She'd done it before. And now they were sitting in the police station, drinking lukewarm instant coffee, waiting for another officer to try to get information out of the kid. "Scully?" "Hmm?" She took a sip of her coffee. "Does your mom have a middle name?" She looked at him. "Why, couldn't you find her on the FBI's Most Wanted, and want another shot?" she asked. "Just wondered, that's all," he wondered what had prompted him to ask such a question. "May," he hadn't expected an answer after her last comment. "Margaret May. Grandma always said it was a pretty name. Luckily mom always agreed with her." She paused and took another sip of coffee. "What about your mom?" He suddenly felt strange, as though she had asked him several times. "Elizabeth," he answered, somehow knowing he had already told her. "Didn't you know that already?" "Why should I know that?" She looked confused. "It's not as though we sit down and have deep and meaningful conversations on a regular basis." "No, I guess not," he paused, wondering why he had asked the question in the first place. He decided to change the subject. "I'm going to go book us tickets home. There's no point hanging around here. They know where to contact us if there are any developments they can't handle on their own." To his surprise Scully put up little resistance and simply nodded. He rose from his seat and made his way outside the building. When he got back Scully was speaking on her own celphone. She gestured for him to sit down. "Yes Sir, we will. We were on our way back anyway. OK. We'll be there." She clicked the talk button off. "That was Skinner. He wants us to assist Mathews and Denison on a robbery investigation back in DC." "I have a better idea..," he began. "Mulder..." The tone was a warning one. "They were Skinner's orders, and I just told him we would go." "I'm sure Mathews and Denison can cope. It's his way of keeping us out of trouble," he caught her reproachful look. "OK, keeping *me* out of trouble." She sighed. "What's the alternative?" "Well," he began. Scully rolled her eyes. "In 1934 there was a sighting of a dragon-like creature in British Columbia, which was spotted again in 1952 and 1967 - at least, those are the officially documented sightings. There have been many more that have been dismissed by local law enforcement - over two hundred since 1750. The Shushwap tribe even take it for granted now - according to their legends it lives in lake Okanagan. They call it the Naitaka, and legends about it go back thousands of years." "Nice story Mulder." She patted his arm. "But you know we don't have any jurisdiction in Canada." "Good thing it appears to have taken a detour to the south, then." Mulder waved two plane tickets in front of her face. "We get into Seattle at eight o'clock tonight," he didn't wait for a reply before tossing her the car keys. "I'll even let you drive." End (1/3) In Dreams (2/3) by Diadem (for disclaimer and other information see part 1) The children were in bed. He could hear Dana finishing up in the bathroom. He knew all the cliches about women taking too long in the bathroom, but Dana never did. In fact, he couldn't remember her ever having done anything that had truly annoyed him. She had never given him anything he could use against her. He suddenly became aware of her standing in the doorway. Half silhouetted against the nightlight from the hallway she looked beautiful. She was wearing a low cut pink silk nightdress that he was sure he hadn't seen before. Not that he was complaining. Her hair curled loosely around her shoulders. She walked over to the bed and leaned over, giving him a generous veiw of what lay below that neckline. She knelt on the bed and draped her arms around his neck. *Mulder.* "What?" Why was she calling him by his surname? "I didn't say a word," she whispered, tickling his ear with her breath. He wrapped his arms around her waist. "I thought you called me..." *Mulder!* "You did, you called me..." "I didn't call you anything." She pulled away from him slightly. "Are you all right?" "Yeah. Must be dreaming." She laughed, and began to slip one of the straps of the nightdress down her shoulder. "Mulder!" "Stop calling me that," he mumbled, trying to stay with the dream. "What would you prefer?" she snapped, and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Wake up. You need to fasten your seatbelt, we're going to be landing soon." With that she kept her gaze steadfastly on the back of the seat in front of her. Mulder struggled back to consciousness. The dream was becoming more and more real. He shook his head, waited for the muzziness to clear, and turned to his partner. "Sorry, I..," he began, but was forced to change the direction of his thoughts. "Did you cut your hair?" "In the last half an hour? No, Mulder, surprisingly I haven't," she answered. "No, I mean, recently?" he persisted. "I had it trimmed about three weeks ago. Why?" Her irritation was fast taking a turn into concern. "I don't mean a trim. I'm sure it used to be longer. About this long," he made a vague sweeping gesture just below his shoulder. "Not for seven years or so." She regarded him carefully. "Are you all right, Mulder? Why the sudden interest in my hair?" "You just looked different, that's all." Why would she look different? He spent practically every day of his life with her. She shrugged, and absently fingered the ends of her hair. "Fasten your seatbelt Mulder." He didn't say anything for the remainder of the flight. It was later that evening. Mulder knocked timidly on his partner's motel room door. "Come in." She sounded considerably less than enthusiastic. He opened the door. She was lying across her bed, fully clothed. She had kicked her shoes off, but that seemed to be as far as she had got with undressing. As there was no chair in the room he perched on the corner of the bed. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry." She didn't move. She didn't speak. He started to stand up, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "That's OK. I guess I should know by now that disobeying orders does not lead to instant dismissal, it leads to a telling off and a couple of manure cases." She hadn't quite managed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "But that's not the only reason you came in here, was it?" She sat up and swung her legs round so that she was sitting next to him. "Not really," he admitted. She sat still for a moment, waiting for him to speak. When he didn't she took his hand and prompted him. "Well?" "Did you ever study sleep patterns, Scully?" "Briefly. I know the four stages, plus REM. But I think that kind of thing is more your field, Mulder." He nodded. "What about dreams? When do they occur?" "What is this Mulder, a pop quiz?" she asked. "Just answer the question." She sighed. "Vivid dreams occur during REM sleep, but vague, distorted images can manifest in the third and fourth stages." "Exactly," he confirmed. "And the pattern of these stages?" "They occur in order - first, second, third and fourth stages, followed by REM, the cycle becoming more rapid towards the end of the sleep cycle. Why, Mulder?" "What if someone could tap straight into REM sleep?" he questioned. "What if they could effectively bypass the first four stages and spend the whole night dreaming?" "Then they would be incredibly well rested," she retorted. "Most people will die more quickly from lack of REM sleep than they would from lack of food - it's the only stage of sleep we can't do without. At a guess I would say that anyone who could bypass the first four stages would only need a couple of hours sleep per night. Why?" "It's a case file," he lied. "And if it were the case, do you think the dreams would change, or that the person would dream one continuous dream?" "I don't know," she answered. "No one knows why we dream, or why dreams take on the forms they do, you know that. If the REM were continuous, I see no reason why the dream couldn't be." "It's a strange thought, though, isn't it? Being able to access a dream just by falling asleep?" He was thinking out loud. "The same dream night after night? I don't think it would work like that. Once the person had woken up, their next dream would be decided by the same random patterns that decide a normal person's dreams. At least," she corrected herself, "I don't see why that should be different from anyone else." "I guess not." He stood up. "Thanks Scully." "You're welcome." He reached the door and turned back. She was always there for him, always ready to reassure him, and what did he give her in return? Nothing. "Scully?" She was still watching him. "Yeah?" "Do you want to go home? This is kind of a silly case," he admitted. She smiled and shook her head. "Thanks for asking. But we're here now. We can at least take a look around tomorrow. It's a long way to come just to go home again." He smiled back, and returned to his room. He woke late. Rubbing his eyes he rolled out of bed, catching sight of the clock as he did so. 10.00. The kids would already be at school. He wandered downstairs, and was surprised to hear the sound of the washing machine. He was even more surprised to find Dana in the kitchen as he stumbled in. "Shouldn't you be at work?" he asked her as he sat down at the kitchen table. "It's Tuesday," she reminded him. "You know I only work three days a week now." "That's right," he rubbed his eye again and yawned. "Are you all right?" She drew up a chair and sat next to him. "It's not like you to come down this late." "I had a strange dream," he told her. "It seemed to go on forever." "Tell me about it." She took his left hand in both of hers and kissed it, before resting them on the table. "Well, you know how dreams are usually really vague?" he asked her. She nodded. "And how you usually know a lot of things without them actually happening?" She nodded again. "Well, this wasn't like that. It was like it was happening in real time, with every little detail in there. Instead of wanting to be in a different room and just being there, I actually had to walk along corridors and unlock doors, that kind of thing." "Strange." She kissed his hand again. "But it was only a dream, and dreams are unpredictable. You should know that better than anyone." "I guess," he still wasn't convinced. He hadn't told Dana, but this wasn't the first time he had had the dream. "You don't sound so sure." He grunted. Already the dream was beginning to fade, leaving only a vague idea of what had happened. "What was it about?" she prompted. "I was a cop," he told her. "I think I was a detective, but I was investigating a lake monster..." "Why am I not surprised about that?" she interrupted with a chuckle. "...and you were my partner," he concluded. She dropped his hand and stood up. "I think you need a coffee," she diagnosed. "I think you may be right," he agreed. That night he sat on the couch, Dana curled up at his side, the television mumbling softly in the background. It had been a busy, happy day. Billy had lost his first tooth at school, and had come home relating tales of what the going rate for a tooth was these days. Mulder had slipped a five dollar bill under his second son's pillow an hour ago. After all, it was his first tooth. He had wanted to take the family out to dinner, but Dana had pointed out that the only places they ever went were the fast food joints that the kids loved, and that the salt and grease in the food might aggravate Billy's gums. He had promised them that he would take them out next week instead. The summer vacation started on Friday. Something on the television caught his attention. There was a bomb in a building, and the FBI had been called in to try to diffuse it. His dream came back to him in a rush of images. He had been with the FBI, investigating a lake monster. It was crazy. No, it was impossible. It was a dream. He moved slightly as Dana shifted against him. A man with a black moustache and shifty eyes appeared on the screen. "He did it," she told him sleepily. "How do you know?" he asked her, stifling a yawn. "You can tell just by looking at him. Those eyebrows are screaming 'terrorist.'" She smiled up at him. "Now I've got that sorted, I'm going to bed." She rolled off the couch and picked herself up from the floor. He grinned up at her. "I'll be up in a minute," he promised. "I'll just check to see if you were right about Eyebrow Man." "OK." She kissed him quickly before leaving the room. His attention returned to the television. The FBI. Why was he dreaming about the FBI? The same dream had been haunting him for almost three weeks now, every time he fell asleep. When he was awake he could barely recall what had happened, but in sleeping everything became as clear as... well, as clear as reality. Figures in blue jackets with "FBI" emblazoned in white across the back ran around frantically on the screen, shouting in their muffled, low-volume voices. After a few seconds, however, they began to blur into one another, as Mulder fell asleep. He awoke to the sound of someone knocking at his door. At first he felt disorientated; this wasn't his apartment. But he was on a case, he reminded himself. He was in a motel about forty miles north of Seattle, searching for a lake monster. And someone was still knocking at his door. He began to climb out of bed, but before he had accomplished the task the door opened, admitting his partner to the room. She stared at him, half out of bed, still tangled in the sheets, and opened her mouth to speak. He beat her to it. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he stood. He tried to ignore her amused chuckle as he crossed the room to the bathroom. "So we're looking for what, exactly?" Scully questioned him as they walked along the edge of the small lake. "Nessie on vacation?" "Scully, many cultures have legends telling of lake monsters. Nessie is only one of them, and one of the least documented, I might add," he told her. "You may as well compare it to the water dragons of Chinese myth, or..." "OK, OK," she interrupted. "It's one of a kind. The British Columbia Dinosaur." "You mock now, Scully, but it has been suggested that it could be a plesiosaur." "I'm not even going to argue with that one, Mulder." She stopped suddenly and stared out over the water. It reflected the gray color of the sky, and the surface was disturbed only by the smallest of ripples. "Have you always been this objectionable?" he asked her. She whirled round to face him before she saw the teasing glint in his eyes. "I guess so," he answered himself. She turned back to the lake. Had he offended her? He doubted she would start taking offence after all these years, but it couldn't hurt to try to make ammends. He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "Where would I be without your constant questioning?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question. They both knew the answer. She wouldn't be his Scully if she didn't contradict his every move. They stood like that for a moment before he released her from his grasp. She caught his hand as it dropped to his side, and gazed up into the sky. "It's going to rain, Mulder," he felt the first couple of drops even as she spoke. "Let's get out of here. Let the locals deal with Nessie," he nodded and pulled the collar of his trenchcoat up to ward off the increasing downpour, running after her towards their parked rental car. "Guess what?" She didn't even bother knocking, just let herself into his room through the connecting door. "What?" He didn't sit up, he didn't open his eyes. He knew she would look at him strangely, but he was tired. She would understand. "No flights leaving the airport until midnight at least. Apparently there's a heavy risk of hail storms as long as the rain continues, and it doesn't look like letting up any time soon," he heard her cross to the window. He knew the sky would be the same angry gray it had been when he had looked himself ten minutes ago. "So when can we leave?" he asked. "I booked us on to the ten o'clock flight tomorrow morning," she answered. He heard her footsteps approaching the bed and the springs shifting as she sat on the edge. He opened his eyes and rolled on to his side so he could see her. "So what now? More monster hunting?" she asked. "In this weather? You have to be kidding. I vote we just wait it out and get the flight tomorrow morning. I might take a nap," he concluded. "You do that," she told him, and rose from the bed. "I'll come get you about seven? The restaurant down the street looks nice, and I could do with a proper meal. Flying from one place to another plays havoc with my appetite." "OK," he agreed, and rolled on to his back once again. The bed shifted as Scully stood up. "For an insomniac, Mulder, you sure seem to be getting a lot of sleep." She ruffled his hair, causing him to open his eyes in surprise. She smiled down at him affectionately, then left the room. "Dana?" "Yeah?" She was sitting on the floor, tossing discarded toys back into the toy chest. She dilligently re-attached Mr Potato Head's various features before flipping him in after his companions. "Do you believe in dinosaurs?" he asked her. She grinned and held up a green plastic brontosaurus belonging to Billy. "What, like this one?" She tilted the toy so that it was looking at Mulder. "No, I just mean in general." Why must she always be so flippant about issues he was serious about? "Well, it's a pretty widely accepted fact that they did exist," she reasoned. "Millions of years ago, maybe," he continued, "but what about now?" "Now? Like Jurrasic Park?" she questioned. "No, not like that," he was beginning to get exasperated but did his best not to show it. "It's a theory that's been put forward about lake monsters and water dragons. And there are some lizards in Indonesia that can grow up to three meters long and weigh up to a hundred and forty kilograms." "I guess they could be related," she theorised, "But I doubt they are exactly the same as the originals. Look how far we have evolved in the last few thousand years, let alone millions." "They could be throwbacks," he argued. "They could," she agreed. "That's it?" he asked. "You're agreeing with me, just like that?" "Why shouldn't I? You know a lot more about that kind of thing than I do." He suddenly felt a terrible longing, for something he couldn't identify. He decided to test her. "Ghosts," he declared, "Fact or fiction?" She looked at him strangely. "Depends on who you ask," she answered. "I've never seen one, but I guess it's a possibility." "Aliens?" "Is this a new paper you're working on?" she asked. "Just answer the question." Was he snapping at her? He hoped not. "Well, it seems a bit arrogant to suppose we are the only ones in the universe..." she began. "Thanks," he cut her off mid sentence and stood up. He could feel her watching him as he left the room. She came into the kitchen to join him five minutes later. She sat next to him at the table and took his hand. "What was all that about?" she queried gently. "I just realized I never asked you directly whether you believe in the things I do," he told her. It was only half truth. In his dream she had contradicted him, challenged him. And he had liked it. "Well, on matters like these I have to bow to your superior knowledge." She smiled and squeezed his hands. "I don't think researching dinosaurs is quite my field, do you?" "I guess not," he made an effort to smile and appear normal. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." But in his heart he couldn't help feeling that nothing mattered more. ~*~*~ End (2/3) In Dreams (3/3) by Diadem (for disclaimer and other information see part 1) Mulder rolled over and cursed as his head bumped against the corner of the small table that stood by the bed. Resigned to being awake he glanced at the clock. 19.30. He couldn't have slept that late. He couldn't. A new thought struck him. Where was Scully? He leapt off the bed and was at the connecting door within seconds. "Scully?" He shoved the door open and scanned the room. "Scully?" He was practically shouting. "Yes?" She emerged from the room's tiny en suite bathroom, still drying her hands on a towel. Noticing his frantic expression she tossed the towel on the bed and crossed the room to stand before him. She took his hand in hers. "What's the matter?" "It's..," he wondered what to say. "It's half past seven." She glanced at her watch, and nodded in confirmation. "You said you would come and get me at seven," he offered in explanation. "I called you..." She seemed confused. He shook his head. "I called you from the restaurant, on your cell, and left a message. I went down to check what time they opened, and when I got back you looked so peaceful I thought I'd leave you a little longer. The restaurant doesn't open until eight," she explained. He was still confused. "You called?" "You didn't get the message? But your cell was right by your bed..." "It mustn't have got through," he would never have slept through his cell ringing - he had it set on the loudest volume and the most nauseating tone possible, at Scully's insistance. It was her way of making sure he picked up as soon as possible. He retreated into his own room and picked up his phone. Scully followed. He stared at the little green display. "1 new message." He flipped through the menu. Sure enough, both Volume 5 and William Tell were still selected. "Call me again," he requested. Scully drew her own cell phone out of her pocket and hit the speed dial. Sure enough, the infuriating beeping began with a vengance. He hurriedly hit the End Call button. "It's working," he confirmed. She nodded. "Weird. Must be an X File," she joked, and walked towards the door. "We need to get ready for dinner. I'll meet you in ten minutes." She left, shutting the door behind her, leaving Mulder staring at his phone in bewilderment. Scully had been right. The restaurant was nice. They had run down the street together, huddled under one small umbrella that wasn't much use against the near-torrential downpour that had continued into the evening. By the time they were through the door they had taken on a distinctly bedraggled appearance, but a quick glance at the few other diners had confirmed that they were certainly not the only ones. They had received their meals quickly, and Mulder suddenly realized how hungry he was. Over the last week or so sleep had become his top priority, work came second, and food was way down the list. This food, however, was good. They had almost finished their main course when Scully spoke. "It's not a casefile, is it Mulder?" "What's not a case file?" He tried to remain calm, even though he knew exactly what she was talking about. "The man who can tap straight into REM sleep. It's you, isn't it, Mulder?" She had laid down her fork and she stared right into his eyes. "And you're addicted to it." She was right. "How did you know?" he whispered. "You've been sleeping at least twelve hours a day for the last week or so, you've even been taking naps in the middle of the day, and you've been yawning all evening, even though you only woke up an hour ago." "Yeah." There was nothing else to say. "I think it must be the neurotransmitters in your brain," she theorised. "My guess is that something is forcing them into a recurring pattern, placing you straight into REM sleep. It may even be tied up to melatonin production, which is making you want to go to sleep all the time." Mulder nodded. It was nothing he couldn't have figured out for himself, if he'd had the energy. He didn't seem to have the energy to do anything recently. "And I think you did sleep through your phone ringing," she concluded. "I can't think what it is that pulls you out of the REM, but it doesn't appear to be noise." Mulder recalled how he had banged his head. How long would he have slept if that hadn't happened? The noise of Scully knocking at the door had woken him that morning. Was his sleep getting deeper, or had it been coincidence that he had woken when she was trying to get in to his room? "Help me." Had he even spoken? From the grieved expression on her face he guessed she had heard. "I'll try, Mulder," she replied. "I don't know what to do, but I swear I'll try." They had eaten dessert in near silence and made their way back to the hotel. Mulder had thought the rain was beginning to let up, but Scully had disagreed with him. She was deep in thought, and he knew he shouldn't have put so much pressure on her. What choice did he have, though? By unspoken agreement they both ended up in Mulder's room. Mulder shrugged off his coat and flopped onto the bed. He allowed his eyes to close; just one minute, he told himself. That idea was quickly disposed of by a gentle slap to his face. "You have to stay awake, Mulder," she told him apologetically. "I'm going to see if I can find anything like this on line." She disappeared into her own room and appeared again a moment later with her lap top bag under her arm. "Count backwards from a hundred," she instructed him. "A hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight; Scully, do I have to do this? I'm awake," he protested. "Count, Mulder." She unplugged the telephone and plugged the lead from her modem into the now vacant socket. "Ninety seven, ninety six, ninety five..." Scully booted up the lap top, and settled herself cross-legged on the bed, the computer balanced across her knees. Like he was likely to sleep with Scully on his bed... "Eighty four, eighty three, eighty two, eighty one..," he heard the singsong tone of the modem connecting his partner's computer to the world wide web. Had this happened before? Was there a cure? Would she find it? "Sixty nine, sixty eight, sixty seven..," he struggled to keep his eyes open. But he must. He had to give Scully time. He quickened his counting. "Fifty six fifty five fifty four fifty three fifty one..." "What happened to fifty two?" Scully sounded distracted, but she was evidently paying attention. "Forty thirty nine thirty eight thirty seven..," he yawned. Scully shot him a glance. The laptop screen was green, but he couldn't make out what the writing said. There were no pictures. "Thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight, twenty seven..." What would she find? If there was anything out there to find, Scully would find it, he was sure of that. He trusted her to find the information, the remedy. He *needed* her to find it. "Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen..," he was slowing down. He couldn't slow down. He mustn't. He quickened the pace. "Nine eight seven six five four three two one!" He finished triumphantly. "Start again." She didn't miss a beat. "A hundred, ninety nine..." There was a ringing from Scully's room. She shot him a look. "Keep counting," she instructed him. She stood, straightened her skirt, and went to retrieve her phone. "Ninety two, ninety one, ninety..." "Oh, hi mom." Scully peered round the doorway to make sure he was still counting. Satisfied that he was she sat down on the edge of her own bed where she could see through the door way. "Yeah, fine. Seattle... well, just north... yeah..." "Eighty one, eighty, seventy nine, seventy three..." Seventy three? He'd just missed eight numbers. Oh well, start again. "A hundred, ninety nine, ninety six, ninety five, ninety one..." He was vaguely aware that Scully was staring at him, but it didn't matter. His eyelids won the battle that had begun a few minutes ago. Twenty two... sixty one... thirteen... one... "Daddy!" The little figure came hurtling towards him through the crowd of parents that stood in the playground waiting to pick up their offspring for the last time that term. Many of them looked exhausted already. "Rosie!" He bent down and scooped her up, giggling. She dropped her bags on the floor, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on his nose. He bent down to retrieve her bags and carried them and his daughter to the minivan that was parked outside the school gates. "What's in the bags?" he asked her. He knew from experience that the two carriers contained a years worth of class work. "It's a secret," she told him as he unlocked the door and dumped her in the car. She giggled again. "Well maybe I don't want to know anyway," he feigned indifference as he buckled her in. "I want to show you and mommy together," she announced and clutched the bags to her. Mulder smiled as he turned the key in the ignition. He knew all too well that Rosie had been waiting for this moment. Every year at the end of the summer term her brothers had brought home all their work and proudly displayed it on the kitchen table, and she could only watch. Now she would be able to participate. He glanced at her in the rear view mirror as he pulled into traffic. Her eyes were gleaming. *Mulder.* He suddenly felt a strange sensation behind his eyes. He blinked. *Mulder.* It was that voice again. Where was it coming from? It was a voice from his dream, Dana's voice. But why was she calling him Mulder? Of course! He was in the FBI. They always called each other by their last names, from what he had seen on television, that was. But that would make her Mulder too, unless she used her maiden name. But he could never call her Scully. That would be too strange. She was Dana. He suddenly became aware of his daughter screaming, and he realized, to his horror, that he was swerving at a crazy angle across the intersection. Hurriedly he corrected himself, pulled over, put the car into park, and turned round to calm Rosie. "You're late," Dana observed as they walked through the door. He glanced quickly at his watch. "Daddy nearly crashed the car!" Rosie reported excitedly as she ran to place her carrier bags next to Billy's and Michael's. "You what?" Dana turned to face him, a mixture of concern and horror written across her features. "Some idiot ran a red light at the intersection," he told her. He neglected to mention that the idiot had been him. He was still trying to figure out what had happened. "Are you all right?" The horror had disappeared, and she took his hand tenderly. "Yeah, a little shaken up, that's all." Where was that voice coming from? Why didn't he understand? "Well, now that we're all home, why don't we look at what everyone's done this year?" she suggested brightly. Only Mulder caught the still-worried undertone to her voice. Two pairs of feet clattered down the stairs, and everyone crowded around the kitchen table. "Seeing as it's Rosie's first time, I think she should start," Dana told the boys. Billy groaned, but Michael magnanimously moved his single bulging bag out of the way to make room for his little sister. He glared at his brother, who reluctantly did the same. Rosie tipped the contents of the first bag on to the table, her eyes shining. One object rolled towards the edge, and Mulder lunged forwards to stop it from falling. It was a mouse, he guessed, three panels sewn together with thick yellow thread, a long yellow tail at one end, and six yellow whiskers at the other. Two bright blue paper eyes stared up at him. "Rosie, this is great!" he told her enthusiastically, setting the mouse down in front of Dana so that she could inspect it. It was strange seeing all the standard projects that he had seen twice before, knowing he wouldn't see them again. *Mulder, can you hear me?* That voice again. His arm hung in mid air as he stopped reaching for the next object. He shook his head violently and felt hideously dizzy for a moment, but then his head cleared. He picked up the papier mache piggy bank with the egg cup snout to hide the hole where the balloon had been pulled out. It was painted a bright blue and sported a green stripe down its back and yellow spots on its face. "He's called Measles," Rosie told him. "Hello Measles," he greeted the pig gravely. Billy snorted behind his hand and earned a warning look from his mother. *Mulder, you're going to be OK.* "Fox?" Dana was shaking his arm. "Fox, honey, are you OK?" "I will be," he told her. The voice told the truth. It always had. But why was he hearing it? He hadn't always been the best of sleepers, but since he had started having the dream he had had no trouble. But that night he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Thinking. Dana had put it down to his near miss in the car. He knew better. Why was he hearing the voice of his wife, or rather, his dream-partner? Having a constant dream, night after night was odd enough, but having the delusion trespass into his waking thoughts was positively weird. Was it trying to tell him something? His thoughts turned to the letter lying in his desk drawer at work. He had received it only that morning, from a television network in Germany. They had offered him double the salary he was working for now to consult on and present a fictional documentary about the year 2200. It was good pay, and a wonderful opportunity, but he knew Dana would never follow him to Europe. He craved the new challenge, but he would be leaving behind everything he held dear. His wife. His children. Everything he had once thought he could never have. He had achieved his dream. This was heaven. *What is it you need, Mulder?* That voice again. Her voice. She had challenged him. She didn't agree with everything he said just because he had said it. She was challenging him now. He answered her: I need my family. *Where are you, Mulder?* I'm right here. *I'm not going to leave you.* Oh. Great. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he shake off this illusion, this apparition? He suddenly realized he needed to use the bathroom. When he returned, Dana was awake. She handed him a small white pill. "Take it," she told him. "It'll help you sleep." She handed him the glass of water she always kept by the bed, then rolled over and closed her eyes. Mulder stared at the pill distrustfully, than caught himself. What reason did he have to distrust his wife, the woman he loved, the woman he had loved for twelve years? He placed the pill on his tongue, took a sip of water and swallowed. As his eyes closed he heard the voice again. *Come back to me, Mulder.* He dreamed. Not the clear, focussed dream he was used to, but a whirling, meaningless string of images and sounds. There were bright lights overhead, but he couldn't open his eyes. There was a beeping close to his left ear, and a far away whooshing sound. He tried to move his fingers, and found he could, a little. *Mulder?* I'm here, he tried to tell the voice. I'm here. But there was no sound other than the constant beep and whoosh. *Mulder, can you squeeze my hand?* He tried. He pushed all his will power into his left arm, and down to his fingers. But even with all that effort he could manage little more than a tremble, and even that exhausted him. The lights faded as the voice whispered. *Hold on.* Dana was still asleep when he woke, and he could tell by the faint light from behind the curtains that it would be another half an hour or so before dawn. He rolled on to his side. Suddenly he felt an agonising pain in his head. He gasped, and bunched the sheets in both hands, trying not to wake Dana. Within moments the pain subsided, and he released his grip, only to cry out as the pain returned, stronger this time. Dana woke with a start, and sat up, turning to him. "What's the matter? Fox?" She sounded anxious, frightened even, but he could not answer, could not reassure her. Instead he grasped her hand tightly. This time the pain had barely begun to receed when it came again, stronger than ever. He tried to focus, but couldn't. His mouth dropped open and he struggled to breathe as Dana scrabbled for the telephone. "Dana..," he pulled on her hand, and grasped her shoulder with his free hand, trying to communicate everything in one glance, in the second when the pain was almost bearable. "Fox? Fox, what's wrong? Where does it hurt?" Gentle fingers ran over his head, his shoulders, his ribs, healing fingers that had always worked miracles in the past. He tried to speak, tried to reassure her, but he could see the tears falling, the terror. She didn't know what was wrong. "My head. Hurts..." Another burst of agony. He was dimly aware of his wife cradling his head, trying to sooth away the pain. But it was too late. Everything was fading, turning black. "Fox!" *Mulder.* The beeping in his left ear drew him back into consciousness. He opened his eyes too quickly; it hurt his head, and he closed them again until he could get used to the light. He could breath. His head didn't hurt, except a mild ache that he supposed was left over from opening his eyes too quickly. He tried again, squinting against the glare from the fluorescent tube situated right above his bed. Yes, he was in bed. Not his own bed, not a motel bed. He knew of only one place that had lights as annoying as that. He was in a hospital bed. And there was a figure slumped in the chair at his side. "Scully?" His voice was cracked and almost inaudiable, but she was awake instantly and staring into his eyes. "Welcome back." Her own voice sounded tired and dry, but familiar. The voice. His voice. "What...?" He didn't need to elaborate. "You blacked out," she told him. "The doctors have never seen anything like it. You were only asleep, but couldn't be woken. When I explained what had been going on they suggested ECT, to try to break the pattern you had managed to set yourself in to. Electroconvulsive therapy. That would explain the splitting pain in his head. "How long have I been here?" She didn't even check her watch. "Twelve hours. I wouldn't let them start the ECT until I was sure you wouldn't come out of it on your own." She bit her lip, and seemed at a loss what to say. "I still don't know what happened, Mulder." Neither did he. He had been trapped in a world he dreamed of, where he had things he could only long for in this world, where he would have stayed, had she not pulled him back. "I love you." What more could he say? She smiled. "And don't you forget it!" "No," he told her. "Isn't that the bit where you say "Oh brother," and leave the room?" "Maybe I feel like a little variety." She smiled down at him affectionately. "Oooh, Scully..." "When you're better," she told him firmly, and placed his hand back on the sheets at his side. "Promise?" She stood and prepared to leave. "Promise." She leaned down and kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth before leaving the room. He closed his eyes. How could he have accepted a Scully that didn't question him at every turn? How could he have accepted a life where he was given everything he had ever wanted without ever having to work for it? Maybe, one day... He had new things to look forward to now. He slept. "I'll miss you Daddy," he bent down and picked up his daughter, who clung to him as she cried. He was taking the job in Germany. When he had thought about it he realized he had no choice. He kissed the top of Rosie's head and handed her back to her mother. Dana still didn't understand his reasons, didn't understand why this was just something he had to do. And after all, their separation was only a trial. The contract only ran for six months. But he knew in his heart that if he was offered a continuation he would take it. He knew that he couldn't continue to live a life without challenge, without surprises. And he knew that Dana didn't want that kind of life. He picked up his hand luggage and hugged his sons as best he could. He would be earning enough to fly them all out as often as he wanted. The summer was almost over, but there would be Christmas, and other holidays. He could fly back for birthdays and other occasions when they couldn't get time off school. His hours, according to his new contract, were pretty flexible. He and Dana had already said their goodbyes, and she had avoided his gaze since. Now, however, she caught his eye. A distorted voice announced his flight. She smiled, tears shining in her eyes. He smiled back, detatching Michael and Billy from his legs. Then he turned, and walked towards the terminal. When he reached the door he turned back to see them still standing there; Michael, Billy, and Dana with Rosie still in her arms. He raised his free hand and blew them a kiss as the attendant tore his ticket. He didn't look back as he walked down the tunnel. He had made the right decision. ~*~*~ End (3/3) Like? Dislike? Indfferent? Comments to Diadem@cwcom.net =============================================================================== "In Dreams" by Diadem This story was downloaded from the Gossamer Project on 5 May 2019. Do not archive stories elsewhere without permission from the author(s). See the Gossamer policies for more information: http://tooms.gossamer.org/local/policies.html ===============================================================================
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