Dreamcatcher 9
Ally

Eeazy Sleep Motel. Cleveland Ohio 7:09a.m.

Sleep had eluded Mulder for the remainder of the night. The sound of his partner's screams seemed etched on his brain, resurfacing inside his head every time he closed his eyes. The sight of her terrified, tear-streaked face remained fresh in his mind, difficult if not impossible to ignore.

She had allowed him to lead her back over to the bed, not needing her permission to join her beneath the covers. He had recognized her need and acted upon it. As simple as that.

It had taken her a long while to stop shivering, and even when he spooned his body around hers, he had felt the trembling continue. He had a feeling it had nothing whatsoever to do with her being cold and more of a reaction to what she had seen that night.

And it had scared him. More than he would ever tell her.

Eventually, her trembling had stilled, and she had reached over to grasp his hand in hers. An unspoken acknowledgement that she was *fine*. An unspoken thank you. Mulder had held onto her long after her grip on him had loosened, listening to her breathing become sweet and even as she once more fell in to sleep. And despite sharing this space with her, he hadn't felt awkward. His body hadn't betrayed the way he felt about her, maybe because he recognized that she needed him there as a kind of protective force. Nothing more than that.

And, he had watched over her as she slept. Carefully searching her face for any slight changes in expression that might signify that the demons were resurfacing. But she had remained quiet, hardly moving except to snuggle more deeply into his embrace.

How she would feel when she awoke was a different matter altogether. Awkward maybe. Ashamed that she had expressed the basic need to be comforted? Possibly. Angry with herself? *Certainly.*

It wasn't Scully. It never had been, and no doubt she would be mortified when she finally opened her eyes and realized what she'd asked of him.

But right now, she was sleeping peacefully, and despite a burning need inside of him to face the day, Mulder was determined to let her rest for as long as he was able.

He didn't want to wake her up. He didn't want to see the walls slamming back into place as she once more drew away from him.

In his wildest dreams, he wanted her to open up to him. To talk about what had happened last night. To make sense of it. To accept it so she might eventually find some peace. He wondered how many other times her daughter had visited her during her dreams. How many times had she awakened screaming Emily's name? One? Ten? A hundred? More?

How many mornings had she greeted him brightly as she crossed the threshold of the office they shared, while covering the heartbreak with a smile?

Mulder didn't even want to think about it.

It hurt too much to imagine her in a place where she felt she had to brave the hurt alone. That despite the trust they had in one another, they didn't allow themselves to trust enough when it *really* mattered.

They would walk to the ends of the earth for each other. Of that he was certain. But admit to themselves that they needed help? Never.

It just wasn't their way.

He held his breath as, beneath the weight of his arms, Scully stirred slightly.

{Not yet. I just need to hold you a little longer.}

His unspoken prayer remained unanswered, however, as little by little his partner began to awaken.

And then he felt it. He felt her body stiffen as she realized where she was. Where *he* was, and she immediately sought to escape from his embrace.

Scully twisted her body around, as though to affirm that it really *was* Mulder who lay beside her in the bed.

*Her* bed.

Under different circumstances, Mulder might have laughed at the expression on her face. But suddenly, nothing seemed very funny anymore. Maybe it was the fact that Scully was looking at him as though he were something particularly unpleasant she had just tracked in on the bottom of her shoe.

Or maybe it was the fact that despite what little sleep she had managed to grab the night before, she looked like death warmed over.

"Mulder?" she queried uncertainly.

"You had a nightmare. You were screaming," he offered by way of explanation and watched as his words finally registered.

"A nightmare?" She sounded incredulous, and despite himself, Mulder felt himself becoming defensive.

Scully said, "I don't remember..."

How the hell can you not remember, Scully? You shook in my arms for over an hour for Chrissakes...}

"Believe me, Scully. It happened. I was there..."

Scully regarded him for a few seconds. A nightmare?

{Nothing is as it seems here, Agent Scully.}

{Children screaming. Darkness. Bone and tissue.}

And then it was gone, leaving her with only the vaguest sense of unease as she watched Mulder watching her. Pulling herself together, she shrugged. "OK. I had a nightmare. You were there. I accept that. But why are you here *now*?"

The words came out harsher than she had meant them to, and as the hurt washed over Mulder's face, she wished more than anything that she could pull them back in. Confusion as to what he was telling her had made her barriers slam back into place. She didn't refute what he was telling her. He would never lie to her. So why couldn't she remember?

He swung his legs across to the opposite side of the bed and slowly got to his feet. He didn't look at her again, but his final words reached her just as he was about to head through the connecting door.

"Because you asked me to."

And suddenly, inexplicably, watching him walk away from her she felt like crying.

************

7:36a.m.

"So what now?"

Mulder regarded his partner as she stood before him. With cosmetic application masking the shadows beneath her eyes, and her hair perfectly styled, she appeared the epitome of professional togetherness. The black tailored suit she had chosen, like most of her *other* black tailored suits, succeeded admirably in masking her obvious femininity.

Scully's armour. Firmly back in place. Impenetrable even for him. *Especially* for him.

She refused to meet his eyes, and the words were forced. Stilted. As though she would much rather not be speaking to him at all.

He glanced at his watch and attempted to lighten the moment. "Well, I don't know about you, but I was thinking maybe coffee and bagels..."

"I'm not hungry."

Three words. Three words that told him everything he needed to know.

{I don't want to get into a situation with you, Mulder. I don't want to talk about what happened last night.}

And suddenly, he was angry. More angry with her than he could ever remember.

{Don't do this, Scully. Don't fucking shut me out. *You* asked *me* remember. Don't pull this tired crap on me now. Not after what you said last night.}

He sighed, ignoring the voice in his head. He was accustomed to disregarding it where this woman was concerned. "OK. So what *do* you want to do? When's the autopsy scheduled? Nine-thirty, right?"

She nodded. Finally deigning to meet his eyes, issuing a direct challenge so intense that Mulder could almost see the chips of ice that surely lay beneath their surface. "Get breakfast. I'll meet you there."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left him standing, staring after her in disbelief.

What the hell was going on here?

**********

Coroner's Office. Cleveland Ohio 9:14a.m.

Scully squinted against the bright light from the powerful overheads that lit the autopsy bay.

Only a couple of hours into the day and she felt like she was ready to fall back into bed. A headache had sprung up back at the motel, and despite dry-swallowing a couple of pain pills, Scully could still feel it stabbing viciously in the background. It had settled in the center of her forehead, very similar to the headaches that had plagued her during her illness.

Her *illness*.

She wasn't sure when she'd blocked the word "cancer" from her vocabulary. Just that it wasn't a term she consciously used anymore.

It was easier to just generalize, because by generalizing she could almost pretend it had never happened. Could pretend that it wouldn't again. Like hiding underneath the covers in an effort to protect oneself from the bogeyman. If you couldn't see him, he wasn't there.

If she didn't say the word "cancer," it ceased to exist.

Simple, really.

*Stupid*.

She shook her head in an effort to clear it and once more turned her attention to the remains before her. It was tough to know exactly where to begin.

What had once been the body of Elizabeth Armstrong was now just a glutinous mass, held together by nothing more substantial than a shallow plastic container. Scully knew that should she even attempt to release it from its confines, Lilly Armstrong would in all likelihood disappear forever down the gaping drainage hole at the far end of the table.

What the hell had done this to her? And more to the point, *why* had it been done?

It was difficult to imagine that this mess before her had once been a human being. Much less a child. Scully had seen some horrific sights during her time with the X- Files, bodies so horribly decayed that she had imagined their stench clinging to her skin hours, sometimes days later. But this? This was different somehow, not least because of the singular lack of any evidence to explain it in any logical way.

Scully sighed heavily. Nonetheless, it was her job to at least attempt to give this whole situation some kind of scientific meaning.

Dropping her head once more, she peered in closer to better sift through the wreckage beneath her. Carefully, almost reverently, she picked through the slivers of bone and tissue that had survived relatively intact, occasionally pausing to lift a larger piece out of the container. Transferring it to a smaller receptacle for further analysis later.

The irony did not escape her that there was in all probability nothing to find.

But she continued working. Methodical and thorough in her actions, her years of training had taught her that sometimes, even the tiniest clue might hold the answer to the most perplexing crime.

And then she saw it. A tiny thread that glistened in the harsh light.

Strung as it was between two small pieces of bone, Scully's first assumption was that it might be a strand of hair. A single strand of Elizabeth's corn-blonde pigtail that had somehow survived whatever fate had befallen the child.

Carefully, she captured the thread between the tweezers' jaws, pulling softly, rewarded when, for the barest moment, the material slid toward her, and then...

"Shit!"

Scully cursed softly as the thread snapped, falling back against the bone. No, not falling. Floating. It floated gently downward, camouflaging itself perfectly against the surface. And suddenly Scully realized what it was she was seeing.

{Children protected for all eternity beneath her web, sleeping peacefully beneath her silken strands.}

Mulder's voice as he recounted his tale to her as she had hovered on the fringes of sleep...and another voice inside her head, deep down in her subconscious, clamoring to be heard.

{Nothing is beautiful here, Agent Scully. It's all an illusion...}

She backed away from the table, her eyes never leaving the spot where she knew the silken remnants of the spider's web to be, inexplicably needing to place some distance between herself and...and...

{And what, Dana? Think. *Think!*}

God, it was hot in here.

She pulled at the mask that covered her face, gulping in the air as though her life depended on it, stumbling backward as she did so, heedless of any obstacles that might be in her path. Needing to get away. To escape.

The room blurred suddenly, forcing her to slam her eyes closed as the world around her began to tilt at an impossible angle. Like a climber balanced precariously on the edge of a sheer cliff, she fought to retain her balance as the floor rolled and churned crazily beneath her.

{Children screaming. Darkness. Bone and tissue.}

Children. Oh God, the *children*.

So many frightened children, reaching out to her, their innocent faces twisted in terror as they implored her to help them. To set them free.

And in the middle of it all a vision of Emily. *Her Emily*. Crying out her name even as she was taken from her.

{Mommmeeeeee!}

Scully cried out as a hand gripped her upper arm. She could feel the fingers that curled around her tender flesh, digging deep. Bruising her.

"SCULLY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!"

Mulder's voice. High pitched. Panicked even. Far away somehow.

But it was enough.

Scully's eyes snapped open abruptly. The first thing she was conscious of was her partner's white, pinched face. She could clearly see the pulse that jumped rapidly at his temple. By its rhythm, she guessed that he was badly frightened. That *she* was the one who had frightened him.

His grip on her loosened a fraction as his eyes searched her face.

"Scully...talk to me," he implored hoarsely.

And just before the world began to spin again, she breathed out a single word that seemed to hang between them like an early morning mist, her voice so soft that Mulder was unsure as to whether she'd even spoken at all.

"Dreamcatcher..."

The word barely registered as, right before his horrified eyes, his partner pitched forward into unconsciousness.

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