Waking Dreams By Starbuck_Jayne Starbuck_Jayne@mulderandscully.co.uk Rating: PG I would have said-don't think there's anything too bad in there. Spoilers: None really. Keywords: MSR. Post season 8. Disclaimer: Not mine wish they were but the characters of Mulder, Scully, Skinner Doggett etc all belong to Mr Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox. Archive: Anywhere just please keep my name and e-mail attached, but no flames please 'cause I am way too delicate! Summary: If walls could talk then they would no doubt have many stories to tell. Feedback: On my knees and begging for it. Author's Notes: Erm I don't even know how to describe this! I haven't seen any of season 9 and the idea of X-Files without Mulder doesn't really appeal to me so I have just carried on the series in my own way ;0) This is for Jill who I miss loads! Waking Dreams The rusting iron gate gave a squeal of protest as the young real estate agent heaved it open. "Well," she said, regaining her composure and casting an uneasy glance across the overgrown estate. "The garden needs a little work," an understatement of epic proportions, "but there's been some wonderful landscaping done here." The prospective purchasers, an attractive couple in their late thirties, seemed unperturbed by this idea. "If you'll look over to the far corner," the agent went on, stepping over the fallen branch of a tree, ravaged by lightening, "you'll see a rather exquisite water feature." Hidden beneath a shroud of dirt and shielded by ever-growing grasses, was a beautiful marble fountain. It rose elegantly from the centre of what appeared to have once been a paved seating area. XXXXX Frost glittered like crystal from each blade of grass, and Scully was forced to watch her step as she made her way down the path. Plumes of smoke cascaded over the sides of the mug that she held between her palms, providing warmth against the December chill. "You ok, Mulder?" She asked, handing him the steaming coffee. He nodded thoughtfully before smiling at her, as if to prove his point. "Where's Will?" "Asleep," she produced his baby alarm, "and quiet for the time being. Jesus, Mulder! It's freezing out here!" She changed the subject with a shiver. It was not unlike Mulder to spend time by himself, but she was worried that his current employment status might be getting him down. He hadn't found another job after leaving the FBI. She, on the other hand, was still at the Bureau; still assigned to Doggett; still working on the X-Files and still refusing to let her husband interfere with any of their cases. She knew it must be hard for him, seeing his whole career's work being passed over to two sceptics, (despite Scully's near conversion), but as Skinner said, there was nothing that they could do. "Have you thought about a career in paranormal investigation?" She said with a half smile, allowing him to take her comment however he chose. As predicted, his expression remained unchanged. They both knew though that it would make sense: after leaving the FBI, the idea that Mulder would become anything other than a paranormal investigator was as absurd as the notion that, now they were openly sleeping together, he and Scully would suddenly become "Fox and Dana". It had begun as a cliche, but, looking at it logically, he wasn't going back to the bureau anytime soon, and for over a decade his passion for his work had been driven by his love of the supernatural. If he'd actually found paperwork and criminal profiling interesting, he would have been the best damn FBI agent in the country and pretty much made director by now. He broke the tension with a sly smile and a "we'll see", before wrapping an arm casually about his wife's shoulders and leading her back towards the house. XXXXX The door was stiff and swollen with age, and as it opened the whole building seemed to recoil from the sudden rush of light. The shafts of sunshine highlighted the dust that had occurred as a result of many years of neglect, and the estate agent stepped swiftly to one side in order to conceal a crack in the plasterwork. The hall was empty except for a few dead leaves that had ventured under the door, and a yellowing vase that served no purpose other than to gather cobwebs. Three doors led out of the room, and a sweeping staircase took pride of place in the centre. The carpet had probably once been a rich burgundy, but had since faded, along with everything else. Pressing onwards, the young woman pushed open the door that led directly off to the right, and then ushered the couple into the kitchen. XXXXX Will refusing to eat his breakfast was no longer a common occurrence, so, as he pushed the spoon away for the third time, Scully feared that he might have been disturbed by the recent events in the house. Mulder's new career was in full swing, and he would spend each night in a different, supposedly haunted, house. He and his wife were seeing less and less of each other these days, but Scully accepted that the nights away from home would only be until he gained credibility as an investigator. Besides, Christmas was just around the corner and she expected that Will would regain his spirit with the unveiling of the tree. The scent of coffee drifted through the kitchen, the rich warmth contrasting with the icy chill that hung in the air outdoors. Scully sighed as she prepared for her journey to work, tugging on her jacket just as Mulder wandered into the kitchen. "Morning!" She smiled, face upturned for a kiss. Instead, Mulder wrapped his arms around her and guided her towards the front door. "Ok..." Scully grinned, aware that he was up to something, despite being unsure what it was. "Ta-da!" Mulder indicated a small sprig of mistletoe that hung above the front door, wrapped, somewhat clumsily, in a red ribbon. "Mulder!" His wife laughed, "That is so..." "Old?" He kissed her passionately before taking her hand and spinning her out of the door. "Now get to work before Agent Doggett beats us to solving this case!" XXXXX The agent appeared to be losing her interest in the house, swinging open the doors to the dining and living rooms then moving on in a way that assured the couple that they had lingered long enough downstairs. The older woman noticed a crack in the window, but said nothing to the agent. If they bought the place, that would be the least of their worries-the house hadn't been lived in for years, or so it seemed. It was going to need a lot of love and care. "How come it has been left derelict for so long?" The man had to ask. "The old owner refused to live here after his wife died," was the response. "It was left untouched for years, but then the guy passed away himself a few months back. Their son cleared out most of the stuff, then had the house put on the market." XXXXX Christmas had been and gone. The only clue that it had even existed was the lingering scent of pine needles where the tree had stood. Scully was curled up on the sofa, reading through case notes and running absent minded fingers through her hair. A fire crackled in the grate, spitting occasionally as the heavy sleet from outside trespassed down the chimney. It was already past midnight, and she'd longed for her bed for a good few hours now, but Mulder had promised her a surprise if she waited up. At quarter to one the sound of the door opening woke her from a light sleep and she stretched her arms, only to have them grasped playfully by her husband as he entered the room. "Mulder, you're freezing!" She chided as he wrapped his hands more firmly about hers. "Look what I brought, Scully," he grinned, producing a bag of Chinese food, "I figured we could spend all night working on this case of yours. Just like the old days." Scully groaned. "Mulder," she warned him, "you know you're not supposed to get involved with these cases!" He didn't reply, already occupied with setting out the take- away, occasionally licking some spilt sauce from his fingers. "Ok, Scully, dinner is served," he handed her the plate with a flourish, and a grin that accented the lines around his eyes...he was overworking himself again. That night Mulder and Scully slept on the sofa, both too tired to climb the stairs to bed. "I miss you, Mulder," she had whispered softly, just before exhaustion caused her to give in to sleep. XXXXX The stair carpet was closer to shreds than to fabric, and the estate agent warned the couple to watch their step. Light shone in through a window on the stairway, the coloured panes of glass casting blue and green reflections on the tiled floor in the hall. The wallpaper was peeling, but it had obviously once been a warm shade of apricot. Quite a contrast to the chill that seemed to engulf the house now. Still, the couple remained certain that the only thing needed to turn the house back into a family home was a lick of paint here and there, and evidently some new carpets. The first room at the top of the stairs was obviously a young boy's, and strangely it was the only room in the house that still retained its contents. Huge dustsheets, yellowed with age and grime, concealed bulky furniture. From the ceiling hung a mobile-spaceships flying around a model of the Earth and moon. A musty smell hung thickly in the air, and the room felt cold and unwelcoming. The couple noticed the agent give a slight shudder before moving on to the bathroom. A claw-foot bath took pride of place in the centre of the room, surrounded by black and white tiles. On one wall was a mosaic, seemingly of a mermaid, but it was difficult to tell through the dirt. XXXXX The steam rose upwards, heavy with aromas of lavender and jasmine. Candles flickered all around the tub, and the light of a full moon shone in through the window. "I want to tell you something," she smiled slyly. Mulder regarded her out of the corner of his eye and stretched upwards, pretending to be unbothered. "Do you want to know or not?" she threw the sponge and it hit him squarely on the chest. "Can't I guess?" He grinned, throwing it back. "Ok, erm, your mother is in the next room?" "Nope." "You've decided to quit the FBI and come and join me in my ghost-hunting travels around North America?" "Nope." "You've fallen in love with your newly assigned FBI partner and are leaving for Europe with him tonight?" "Maybe." She laughed. "Ok, well I'm out of ideas. What's the big news?" "I'm pregnant." XXXXX The last room of the house. The door was flung open, revealing a spacious bedroom. The drapes were still closed, so the agent drew them off, allowing the last of the autumn sunshine to slip in through the window. The sun was beginning to set, and an orangey glow was cast across the sky. "Maybe there's a storm brewing," the man spoke, wrapping his jacket closer about himself. The room was without a carpet, instead having wooden floorboards that creaked as the intruders moved around. A dusty mirror was the only thing still in the room, but it was shattered into pieces, presumably having been dropped and then abandoned at some time during the moving process. The woman couldn't help but feel uneasy here, as though unseen eyes were watching her. A cold draught blew in through a crack in the window, and sent her hair flying about her face. XXXXX No one had expected her to lose the baby. Somehow it just wasn't right. Not after they had tried for so long, and had finally been so happy. She hadn't even told him until he returned from work, and had found her lying on the bed. He wasn't even sure if she was crying, it had been that long since he had witnessed her tears. She wouldn't look at him though, turned onto her side as he sat next to her and began stroking her shoulder. Placing gentle kisses on her forehead he asked her softly to tell him what was wrong, but she couldn't. "Scully," he pleaded. "Is it the baby?" She nodded and he drew her close. There was nothing else to do. "We can try again, Scully!" "I know we can, Mulder! But it's been so hard." "We can't just admit defeat like this, Scully. This isn't who we are." XXXXX "So," the estate agent beamed in her "look-how- approachable-I-am-so-wouldn't-you-like-to-make-me-an- offer" way that was so typical of professionals. "You can have a look around on your own if you like?" Her offer was refused, and the three made their way outside. The sun was nearly set, and the dying wind whipped up a few orange leaves, sending them twirling down the path and leaving behind a bare flagstone. Carved into the rock was a rudimentary drawing of a spaceship, and below that an inscription, engraved in a childlike scrawl: "Katherine Samantha Mulder. 2013." ~The End~