TITLE: Endings
AUTHOR: Dreamshaper
FEEDBACK: sometimes my mailbox eats it--but I get most of it and love it all!
Send to Dreamshpr@aol.com, if you so desire ;)
ARCHIVING: Sure. Love it. Talk to me if you don't have anything else of mine,
though.
CATEGORY: MSR, post-ep
RATING: R
SPOILERS: Post-ep for Monday. Baby sized one for Tithonius, mild cancer arc
too.
SUMMARY: Bad dreams lead to sleepless nights, and a very cranky Scully.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. I wouldn't want 'em anyway--too much work ;)
NOTES: I had horrid writer's block all week--but the minute the nice heat
wave broke, I could write again. Coincidence? Well, no, it was too hot to sit
at the computer. But still, I'm glad it's over ;) Enjoy!
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Dreams were an uncomfortable proposition this week.
Whenever I permitted sleep, and I didn't permit much of it, I had to fight
them back consciously. I had to struggle to remember that they were not
truth, and I had to wake myself. I hadn't slept a full night in days, hadn't
slept a full *hour*.
And it showed.
Skinner called me into his office yesterday to a little less than delicately
inquire about the state of my health. He came very close to asking if I was
no longer in remission, and I only forgave him for his less than sensitive
inquiries because worry had blossomed in his normally opaque gaze. And I did
my best to reassure him, even smiled lightly as I rose, and headed from his
office after a curt, two word answer...
And it wasn't the rude words I wanted to use, either. I told him I was fine,
made my excuses, and went my way.
It didn't surprise me to find Mulder on the phone when I headed down to the
basement office. With his back to the door and hunched over defensively, he
murmured and mumbled a conversation. I stood in the doorway, arms crossed and
brows raised, and waited for some time, but he didn't even seem to notice my
presence. He was too busy telling Skinner all about how he worried too, but
was certain it was nothing to do with the cancer.
<> I wondered as I waited silently for the
conversation to wrap up. <>
I'd had a dream like *that* once, while I was in the hospital just before
Penny died. I was walking down a long hall, trying to find Mulder. Opening
doors on either side had proved fruitless, he was waiting for me at the far
end of the corridor. Awash in shadows, his had been a silent figure, a
silhouette more than flesh and bone. I had taken a step towards him, smiling,
holding out my hands in welcome, but he had stopped me.
"Dana," He'd called me as he had most of the time I was hospitalized, by my
first name. But it wasn't comforting in the dream, the way he said it made me
ill. I still shudder if on occasion he uses it, no matter that the tone is
different. "Dana, check your forehead."
Automatically, I had put up a hand, not knowing what to expect. And I found a
growth right over my cancer, something that felt like a keloid of not
inconsiderable proportion. Looking at him in shock, in horror, I had seen his
face for the first time in the dream--and his expression was of intense
disgust. He turned from me, walking away down the corridor, and I had started
to follow, pleading...
But had woken in that moment as if I had dreamed I was falling, and hadn't
had the dream since.
I wish I could be so fortunate with my current round of nightmares.
Mulder was wrapping up his phone call, murmuring a promise to Skinner that
he'd make sure I rested over the weekend, a promise that had me raising a
brow and pursing my lips. <> I thought, ready to say the words to his face and
surprise him with my defiance--but really hoping that he could somehow do
it...
I was so tired that my face felt bloodless. Every time I passed a mirror, I
expected to see the reflection of a woman so pale her skin was translucent,
her lips bone white under lipstick, the lines and traceries of her veins
nonexistent. But though my reflection had shown a painfully pale woman, I was
a few shades from expectation--and waiting to see how long it would take me
to get to that image.
Mulder spun around in his chair to hang up the phone, and spotted me standing
in the doorway.
"Call from Skinner." He told me, obviously debating whether or not to tell me
the whole truth. "He's, uh, a little concerned about you. And to tell the
truth, so am I." He pinned me under a considering gaze, tilting back is seat
and keeping his eyes firmly on my face as I crossed the room, settled onto
the corner of his desk.
Silence passed between us, one he obviously expected me to fill, but I kept
my mouth shut, merely looked down at him calmly, masking the anger, and the
fear, tat were building inside me.
"What's wrong?" Mulder finally asked abruptly, not even trying for tact, just
brusquely waving aside my 'I'm fine, Mulder.' before I had a chance to say
it. "Don't try to feed me that bull, Scully, you're pale as a sheet, and you
were shaking when I ran into you in the lobby earlier. Your hands were still
trembling when you were in Skinner's office. And to tell the truth, for a
couple days here you've had less than typical motor skills. Obviously,
something is not right with you."
Gazes warred for a second before I pushed off the desk, wandered into the
dark corner of space that houses all the various junk collected in our
investigations. I kept my back to him, studying the cork board covered in
monster photos as if I hadn't seen them before, and found them fascinating.
"Scully." He said, and his tone was a warning that might have intimidated me,
had I not known him a hundred hospital vigils, multiple gunshot wounds,
abductions, deaths and a thousand tense moments. So I just murmured absently,
deliberately looking closer at the image of Big Foot, stomping his way
through the forest.
I didn't expect big hands to close on my shoulders. I hadn't even heard him
rise from his chair, and that thing squeaks like mad. But before I could even
startle, he had me pulled around, one hand had settled beneath my chin, and
the other had firmed its hold on my shoulder. Surprised, I stood still as his
eyes searched mine for whatever truth he was looking for.
"Tell. Me. What's. Wrong." Each sharply punctuated word was gritted through
his teeth, and I was fascinated to realize that this was an enraged Mulder. I
hadn't seen it building, and it took me so much by surprise...
"I haven't been sleeping, Mulder."
"No kidding." He rasped the words incredulously, faking the emotion with
complete and patent sarcasm. "Why not?"
I bit my lip, searched his eyes as deeply as he had searched mine. And
finally, reluctantly, I told him the truth.
"I've been...having really bad dreams, Mulder. About the bank robbery. A
thousand different ways it could have ended...and I've been dreaming all the
worst ones, I think."
His eyes gentled in a flash, anger bleeding into knowledge. The hand gripping
my shoulder loosened, rubbed lightly, the hand beneath my chin slid to the
back of my neck.
I almost held my breath as he lowered his head, but it wasn't a kiss he was
after. I know this particular hold, from a night so long ago and so veiled in
my memory that only this one image stands out...
He pressed his forehead to mine, three quarters closing his eyes, and
feathering a light, sunflower scented sigh across my cheekbone. And for a
moment neither of us spoke. We simply stood like that.
Slowly, I began to relax. My breathing started to match his, slow and deep
and even, and I the exhaustion I was feeling lent me a sense of vertigo--but
it was almost pleasant, a dizzy rush of feeling that I eased into...
Unfortunately, it buckled my knees, and the mood was broken.
"That's it." Mulder said, more to himself than to me as he caught me. "That's
just it. I don't care why you haven't been sleeping, we're going home now and
you're going to rest well if it kills me."
I couldn't focus on his words for a minute, found myself hunched over in his
chair, head tucked between my knees and drawing deep gulps of oxygen. But
when the waves of nausea receded, I tuned into him again, heard him swear as
he gathered up his coat, my coat, and a stack of case files.
"Not sleeping, dreaming, but she's not going to tell me about it, not till
she's ready to pass out. Independent, my ass, more like stupid."
He pulled me to my feet again as I was ready to go off on him, defending
myself, and he lowered his face to mine, looking right into my eyes. "No,
Scully. I don't care. We're going."
And he slipped me into my jacket and hustled me from the room with a very
strong, very heavy hand on my back.
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That's how I found myself ensconced on my couch, in my softest pajamas,
covered in blankets and afghans to the point I nearly drowned in them. Mulder
was at my computer, typing furiously, telling me to go to sleep every time I
moved, pinning me with glares every time I tried to protest.
It was not conducive to sleep.
"Mulder." I finally said as firmly as I could. "I'm not going to be able to
sleep at all like this. I toss and turn, you know that. I can't sleep in full
daylight, and certainly not with a bossy, overbearing man clacking away at a
keyboard." Pushing aside three of the heavier blankets, I sat, ran my fingers
through my tousled hair. "I'm going to my room."
I nearly growled when he immediately followed. "Mulder." Anger ate through my
tone, but I couldn't stop it. "Mulder, do not follow me, or I will kill you.
I will, I promise it."
He bared his teeth in a grin. "Scully, I'm bossy and overbearing. And
overprotective, which you forgot to mention. So of course, I'll follow
you--till I know you're asleep, and not dreaming."
"How could you know that? It's pointless to try, Mulder!"
His eyes swept me swiftly before returning to mine. No calmer, but even more
assured, he smiled again. "I'll just know, Scully."
If it had been in my genetic makeup, I would have flounced away then, headed
for my room and locked the door. But because I am who I am, I took a deep
breath, counted to ten. Counted to twenty, then thirty as he looked smugly
on.
"Fine." I finally gritted. "Whatever."
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And I found myself ensconced a second time, only this in my bed, with the
shades pulled down, the alarm clock unplugged, and my big, heavy partner on
the other side of the covers, and the other side of the bed--though that was
doomed not to last long, because my nice soft mattress sagged under his
weight, rolling me continually towards him.
We hadn't started out like that. He had tucked me in, ignoring my glares, and
had settled himself in the chair near my bed, glasses perched on his nose and
an open file in hand. But I was so angry, and so restless, that even the
sound of turning pages bothered me. And when he began crunching down on
seeds...I nearly lost it. For a second, I contemplated screaming, going for
my gun, and shooting him.
But then I remembered the dream, the feel of his blood beneath my hands, the
whisper in my ear that I'd heard through every image...and I felt awful for
my contemplations.
So I just yelled.
"Mulder. Stop it with the seeds. You're driving me insane."
He crunched deliberately on one before looking up with a falsely regretful
look. "Sorry, Scully." He murmured, slipping another into his mouth.
I flopped down again with a sigh, frustrated. Tired.
Nearly ready to cry.
He must have sensed it, because abruptly the turning pages settled, and he
wasn't chewing seeds anymore. I was ready to be grateful as the burning,
freezing rage eased out of the air between us, but then he was sitting beside
me on the bed, nudging me with his hand.
"Move over, Scully." He whispered, settling himself down next to me.
Surprised, I did as he asked, moving over to the side, allowing his larger
frame more room to settle.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand and watching my
hands fiddle uncomfortably with my blankets as I fought not to roll into him.
"Tell me about your dreams, Scully." He murmured, stilling my hands with his
free one. "Talk to me. Let me help."
Uncharacteristically, I felt tears begin to burn. Holding them back by force
of will, I sniffed lightly, tried to get myself under control. When I thought
I had succeeded, I began.
"The first one, Mulder, was last Monday night--after we got home from the
bank. I dreamed that I walked in after you--Skinner sent me to find you. And
I did find you--but you were on the floor, under that bastards gun, bleeding
horribly. I couldn't save you. All I did was make him angry enough to shoot
me too. And we died."
He kept silent, allowing me to continue at my own pace, and I took a few
minutes to gather myself again. "That same night, I dreamed that I went in
with your check and sent you up to talk to Skinner. But you had handed me the
wrong part, so I was going to leave. You were coming in, smiling, waving the
other half in the air--and then you were down again. Just lying on the floor,
bleeding and dying. Only this time, when I tried to save you, the building
blew up."
"Have they all been like that, Scully?" His voice when he asked the question
was light as gossamer, light as the pressure he applied to my chin to make me
meet his eyes. "Have they all been like that, every night this week?"
I nodded, unable to answer.
"You know, I dreamed like that on Sunday. Only he was going to shoot you...in
any case, the dream died Monday night. But I still...had this feeling. Like
we'd lived far longer than we have. Like we'd had conversations I *know* we
never had."
"I have that feeling too." I whispered, looking away from his dark, searching
gaze.
"It's weird, huh? I go to laugh as I remember one, or turn to yell at you for
another...and realize we never had them at all."
"Zip ah dee do dah." I mumble, not really hearing myself, looking down at my
hands.
Mulder let out a short, quiet chuckle. "Yeah. And I keep wanting to tell you
that I'm glad Fate worked the way it did and we ended up as partners."
"Cause it all could have been so different."
"Right. Everything could have ended so differently."
"It wasn't supposed to end that way..." I heard the words, knew I'd said
them, but they didn't make sense--and they didn't feel like mine. I looked to
Mulder, found him frowning too as he absently twined his fingers with mine.
"Do you remember that too?" I asked, hesitant, confused.
"Yeah...but I don't know why." His puzzled frown cleared as he looked down at
my hands. "But I think--everything ended the way it should have, Scully. The
way it was meant to."
I shuddered as the image of his blood splattered body crossed my mind, as I
remembered with startling clarity the heavy, limp weight of him in my arms.
His eyes flashed to mine, and he sighed.
"No new scars, Scully. We both made it through."
Hesitantly, not really aware of my actions, I moved one hand, rested it on
his shoulder, kept my eyes on his as I slid it down. I needed...the
reassurance of touch. I wanted to feel for myself that he was whole.
But the heavy heat that leapt into his eyes as my hand passed over his chest
was more than enough to convince me. But it was quickly banked, he moved my
hand, held it for a moment, then slid it down to rest with the other.
"Sleep, Scully." He murmured, gently, moving to rise from the bed. "I'll be
here."
But I caught his hand as he pushed away, keeping him on the bed. "Mulder..."
I said quietly, drawing the word out. "Mulder, stay. With me."
That probing look again, the one that makes me feel I have no shields against
him, and then he moved back down, laying on his side beside me. Immediately,
I moved over, closer to him, close enough to practically feel his heartbeat.
And I sighed softly, almost ready to sleep.
But it wasn't supposed to end that way.
As soon as I settled for sleep, I knew it was wrong. And before I knew why,
or what it was...I had risen enough to kiss his startled lips.
The world slowed, keeping the kiss timeless, and sunflower flavored. But the
startlement on both our parts prevented any real passion from erupting, and I
finally moved away, looking into his surprised eyes with my own, feeling the
bemusement wholeheartedly.
But it didn't last long. Mulder reached up, slid one hand behind the back of
my neck much as he had done in the office, and pulled my mouth back down to
his. And that kiss, expected, unwary, was full of the passion the first had
lacked.
And the passion grew--in moments, I had pulled off my top, and his, and we
were laying bare against one another. The contact was electric, and we broke
off another kiss to explore it.
Hands tickled across flesh, and it got to the point that I couldn't even
distinguish the feel between skin he was touching and skin he had touched. My
whole body felt alive with it--more energy pulsed in me than had since the
high adrenaline moments of last Monday. But my hands knew every inch of his
skin, knew what had been touche and what had to be touched, knew the minutest
differences in texture. The differences in temperature.
And that was when we fumbled free of our pants--Mulder taking far longer than
me, fumbling with shoes and socks and boxers even as I watched, almost
amused, but far more interested. And the full body contact had us both
groaning, steaming up the air around us.
As we had already learned with hands, we each retraced with mouths--Mulder
doing a much more thorough investigation, using teeth and tongue and lips to
bring me right up to the edge of fulfillment--but then easing back.
"Scully." He panted as his forehead rested again on mine. "Scully, should we
be doing this? You're...exhausted. Maybe this isn't what..."
I rolled my eyes, moving my hips under his, waiting. But he kept himself
frozen, stiff and still above me, and I realized that I had to offer some
reassurance.
"Mulder, this feels right. This is the way it's supposed to end. Don't you
feel it?" I whispered the words as vehemently as I could, *willing* him to
believe me, to see it. And his face moved away from mine, his eyes searched
mine more thoroughly, and I let myself fall into them for a moment...
"Yeah." He whispered back, a small, incredible smile curving his lips. "Yeah,
I feel it."
And then the yearning movements of my hips were answered, and in a flash I
was gone. He followed seconds later, with a long, soft groan...
When we had both come down, when Mulder had returned with some of the
blankets from my couch nest to cover the sheets, I barely managed to keep my
eyes open. And when he slid back in beside me, tucking me close to his chest
and resting a hand over the scars on my stomach, I sighed, kissed him again,
and let my eyes close.
I fell asleep, and I didn't dream.
END
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Were you wondering what annoying comment I was going to write here in my
little post script? Well, I really can't think of one, so you all get off
easy ;) But be warned, I will have a grand story to tell you next time!
Bwahahaha!
Dreamshaper
dreamshpr@aol.com
(
geocities.com/televisioncity/station) (
geocities.com/televisioncity)