Dreamcatcher 19
Ally

Dreamcatcher May 5th 1999

Mulder felt the breeze tickling his face, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the brightness behind his eyes as he struggled up to a sitting position.

Half expecting to still be in the motel room, his preconceptions were immediately quieted by the scene before him.

A beach. An expanse of fine, white sand that stretched before him in a shimmering haze of heat.

It was hot here. So damn hot. The only thing that made it bearable was the stiff breeze that caught the tiny grains of sand and swirled them up to sting his face. Like minuscule pinpricks, the pain was enough to prompt him to scramble to his feet.

He was dressed exactly as he had been when he had closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off, the scent of his partner tickling his senses as he had fallen into a deep slumber.

He glanced around. Was that was this was? A dream? A product of his troubled subconscious. Certainly, he could think of no reason to be here. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. Not this piece of paradise that wouldn't look out of place gracing the cover of a travel journal.

Until, far in the distance, he saw her. And then he realized.

The figure that he saw, as he shaded his eyes against the burning sun, was sitting at the water's edge. From her position, knees drawn up tightly against her chest, arms clasped together, she appeared serene. Calm even. Certainly she looked in no hurry to move.

But she didn't see him. Of that Mulder was certain.

Or maybe she did and refused to believe it.

Mulder opened his mouth to shout to her, but before the words even had a chance to form in his throat, he closed it abruptly. Inexplicably, he was afraid to call out to her. Afraid that if he did, she would simply disappear.

So instead, he began to walk. Cursing the sand that spilled into his sneakers and chafed his bare feet.

Even as a kid he'd hated the feel of sand in his shoes. He had preferred to go barefoot, much to the consternation of his mother who had berated him more than once for exploring jagged rock formations without even the barest of protection.

It brought back painful memories of his father shouting at him as the blood spilled from a young Fox Mulder's toes, the result of slipping onto a piece of broken soda bottle. Samantha crying because her big brave brother was hurt. His mother wearing that strange, pinched look of disapproval he would come to recognize over the coming years.

Mulder closed his eyes at the almost forgotten memory of William Mulder stuffing his son's earlier discarded deck shoes into the tote bag.

{{Now you can walk home barefoot, Fox. See how you like that, shall we?}}

And the stinging pain as the sand had worked its way into the cut, each step bringing a fresh wave of agony. But he hadn't allowed it to show. Hadn't faltered as he concentrated on walking without limping. The cut had become infected. It was ironic, really. Because the infection had meant he was unable to wear shoes for the rest of the summer.

It had been a miserable summer, the final summer when he still had a sister, but hadn't realized that she would soon be taken away from him. Looking back through an adult's perspective, he could recognize the terrible undercurrents that had lingered like poison beneath the carefully constructed facade of normality.

But back then he had been too young to understand. It would have made no difference anyway.

Because no matter how much understanding he may have had, the results would have been the same. Samantha would still be gone. Her disappearance would set his feet on a path he was destined to travel his whole adult life. A path that had led him to where he now stood. Toward...

{Scully?}

He was closer now, was able to make out the tears that streaked her face. They caught in the glare of the sun and shimmered with a blinding luminosity that took his breath away.

She wasn't moving. Wasn't making a sound. Because unlike back in the real world - where she had wept against his shoulder, her anguish emitted in short, hitching, gasping sobs - here she made no sound. And if it weren't for the tears that pooled in her eyes and dripped steadily down her face, it would be almost impossible to believe she was even crying at all.

Mulder shut his eyes briefly. He was maybe a mere five feet away from her now and still she didn't look at him. Was it possible that she *really* didn't see him? The notion was too awful, too painful for him to comprehend and he pushed it away sharply as he stood, unsure of what to do next.

Scully saved him the trouble. "Go away, Mulder."

He recoiled slightly from her words. "What?"

Scully finally turned her head toward him, her gaze settling on him, although he was unsure as to how well she could see him through the film of tears that covered her eyes. Her voice when it came was almost accusatory. "I said go away. You're not real. Nothing here is real..."

She trailed off then, turning her attention back to the expanse of glittering blue that made up the ocean in this strange place.

Conversation ended. Nothing more to say.

But inwardly, Mulder rejoiced. She could see him. He was really there with her. All he had to do now was to convince her of the fact.

So he bridged the final gap between them and dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching out a tentative finger to rest beneath her chin.

In response to his touch, Scully slammed her eyes closed, whimpering slightly. "You're not real. Please don't do this to me."

But he didn't falter, didn't change his position in the slightest except to increase the pressure so as to tilt her chin up towards him. "Look at me, Scully. It's okay."

Mulder held his breath as slowly, so slowly, her hands left their folded position on her lap and traveled up the length of his arm. Tiny feather touches that danced on his skin like butterflies until finally the tiniest ghost of a smile graced her lips. Her eyes when she opened them were full of sadness, though.

"You shouldn't be here, Mulder. It's dangerous."

He shuddered then, her whispered words slicing into him as he felt her fear. For just an instant the sunlight behind them shimmered and shifted, revealing a darkness that assaulted his senses and caused his stomach to flip over languidly.

"We have to get out of here, Scully."

She shook her head numbly, still denying his words even as he stood, pulling her to her feet along with him.

"I'm not sure that we can. I'm sorry, Mulder, but you shouldn't have come. You have to go back before it's too late..."

Her words trailed off as in the distance the sand began to stir in response to a sudden change in the direction of the breeze. Mulder shivered as he realized that the wind was no longer gently caressing his skin, but had risen in ferocity so that it now whipped his hair around his eyes. The stabbing sensation caused them to water, almost blinding him to everything. But with a supreme effort he managed to keep his gaze on Scully. She seemed unconcerned by the wind. Made no effort to brush the hair from where it was plastered against her face.

It was as though she didn't even notice it.

A sudden gust against his legs almost made Mulder lose his footing and he staggered slightly, releasing his hold on her as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The very ground beneath him seemed to pulse with life as the sand began to cover his feet.

Irritated suddenly by the grains that poured into his sneakers, grating against his skin, he sought to lift his leg on order to shake them out only to find that he couldn't move.

The swirling sand became a vortex, encasing him completely, allowing him only the merest glimpse of his partner's horrified face before it surrounded him, pushing against him as it sought to destroy everything in its path.

{Oh dear God, it hurts.}

He was dimly aware of the sound of screaming, but the pain became such that he was unsure whether it came from within himself or from Scully.

{The wind. The wind is screaming.}

And then nothing. Except the sound of Scully's anguished cry as he was torn away from her. "Mulderrrrrrrrr!"

Then strong arms grasping him, shaking him even as he screamed. The voice that assaulted him sharp and urgent. Scared even.

"Mulder, for God's sake..."

{Skinner?}

Mulder snapped open his eyes, focusing rapidly on the familiar face above him that was pinched with the kind of concern he had rarely seen from anyone aside from Scully.

Shrugging off his superior's hands from where they were locked around his shoulders, Mulder scrambled up to a sitting position, turning his eyes to where he held the Dreamcatcher, clutched tightly enough in his clenched fist so as to whiten the knuckles.

Releasing it wearily, he scrubbed at his face, attempting to restore some semblance of awareness to his confused senses. "What the hell is going on here?"

He didn't realize he had voiced the query aloud until Skinner answered. "I was coming to get you...and I heard you screaming. You were having a nightmare."

"NO! It wasn't a nightmare...at least not in the way you believe. I was *there*, I saw Scully."

"Mulder what are you..."

Ignoring Skinner's look of incredulity, Mulder slowly swung his aching legs over the side of the bed, feeling the sand that itched and burned against his skin. Brought back from the dream world, from the world in which his partner was trapped. From the world which had sought to consume him only to allow him to escape.

But why? Why was he different? Unless...

{Dreamcatcher.}

The key was in the Dreamcatcher. It had to be. He had held onto it in his subconscious and it had set him free.

The only question now was why?

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