From: eponine119 Date: 10 Jan 1999 19:07:39 GMT Subject: NEW: Dreamland 1/3 ... Disclaimer: The X Files belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox, not me. Author's notes: This story has nothing to do with the "Dreamland" episode, there are no spoilers, but the early rumors about that ep prompted me to write about what I thought should happen if Mulder went to Area 51. It, um, kind of mutated by the time I finished it. Summary: X-File, UST. Mulder thinks he's found Elvis in Las Vegas. ................................................ Dreamland by eponine119 eponine119@att.net December 3, 1998 ............................................... It all started with Elvis. "He's still alive, Scully!" Mulder turned off the light in the office, plunging us into total darkness before he reached the projector in the middle of the room. Of course he had slides. "People are going to wonder what we do down there in the dark," I remarked, but he didn't even seem to hear me as a bright photo of his idol splashed up onto the wall. I stared at it, unimpressed and feeling his eyes on me. "So it's Elvis," I said finally. "See!" he cried. "So where'd you get this, Mulder, your sources at the Weekly World News?" I asked, turning to face him with arms crossed over my chest. "An aging Elvis impersonator can't be all *that* unusual." "It's him," Mulder said, his eyes bright. "I ran the slides by the photo guys in the lab. They did an aging of the real Elvis and they match exactly!" He flipped to the next slide, which was also of a white haired guy. "Spooky," I commented dryly. "See, the problem people always make, your Weekly World News included -" Mulder began, walking up to the screen. "My?" I questioned. " - is that the assume he's gonna still be wearing the bouffant and be doing drugs. This is the '90s, and if he's lived for the last 20 years, he'd have had to change his lifestyle." I watched, waiting for Mulder's long fingers to reach up and caress the image on the wall. He really loved Elvis. I didn't understand it, personally. "That doesn't explain why he would fake his death in the first place." "Wouldn't you like to ask him?" he turned back to me. "Honestly?" I asked. Honestly, I couldn't resist Mulder when he got that look in his eyes. "C'mon, Scully, it'll be fun," he wheedled, walking over to me and pulling my hands away from my body. "So where does Elvis live?" I asked, allowing a touch of wry amusement to live in my tone. "Las Vegas," Mulder said with a flourish. Of course. It was almost as silly as asking where Santa Claus lived. I pressed by lips tight to combat the smile that threatened. This was ridiculous, but he was right - it could be fun. And fun was something we'd had so little of. I had packed a short skirt and a Tshirt in my carryon, aware of Nevada's arid climate and I was tempted to put them on in the airport restroom. Once again, I wondered if Mulder would even notice. I had noticed that no one was wearing FBI-dark suits and we were accumulating odd glances from the grandmas at the slot machines. I felt out of place in Funtown. Mulder was oblivious. His eyes caught the neon sparkles and seemed to hold them captive. His head turned every few seconds, not knowing where to turn or look. He was attracted to shiny objects. "Where are we staying?" I asked as we stood in line at the rental car counter. My fingers had found two quarters in my pocket and I itched to waste them in one of the slot machines. He didn't answer me. I slipped from his side, dropping the quarters into an available machine and pulling down on the handle. The wheels spun and then settled into place. I'd won a quarter. Wow, what luck and on my first time out! I played again and lost my 25 cents. When I raised my head, Mulder was at the counter, craning his neck like a woman who'd lost sight of her child in a crowded public place. I walked to his side and said, "I'm here." I sensed his body relax at the sound of my voice. It surprised me that he worried. It surprised me, honestly, that he'd noticed me missing. He'd been self-absorbed lately, maybe dealing with his own demons, I didn't really know. Maybe I should know, I thought. He drove to a dingy motel off the strip that looked like the roof was likely to fall in. He parked in the lot, which held only one or two other cars, and began to gather his things to go inside. I stayed in the car, staring at the motel in shock. He had to be joking. "Scully?" He poked his head back inside. "There are probably a million hotel rooms in the city - what brings us here?" I demanded. He got that little boy look on his face, but I wasn't buying. I moved over the gearshift and put out my hand. "You can stay here if you want, but I'm not going to." He looked at me, his eyes wide. "I mean it." I always put myself at his mercy - he made the arrangements, booked the car, drove the car, picked the motel and the greasy diners and the rest. He'd pick my clothes if it occurred to him I'd let him. But not this time. "What's wrong with it?" "Look!" I cried, and he turned his attention to the grey, drooping facade. "Okay," he said, shifting his weight. "I'll drive," I told him. He handed me the keys but looked at me like there might be a syzygy he should know about. Mulder sat in the car, unmoving much as I had been when the valet came to park it for us. "Mulder?" I said again and he grabbed his bag and lumbered out of the car, standing still as the valet drove the car away. "You've got to be kidding," he said, turning mocking eyes from the great black pyramid before us to my face. I was inwardly beginning to feel a little embarrassed about my choice, but would never admit it. In any case, there weren't any normal motels in Las Vegas. "What?" "It's so...cheesy." "That's what Vegas is all about," I informed him with one of my irresistible smiles. I've seen Mulder's physical reactions to that sweep of my lips and it worked again. He followed me inside, stopping on the other side of the automatic doors, pointing at a giant Egyptian statue. "Ignore it," I suggested, heading for the check-in line and securing us a pair of rooms. "I can't believe this, Scully," Mulder cried as we rode up in the "inclinator" or diagonal elevator, to our rooms. "Would Elvis live anywhere not completely gaudy?" I teased. Mulder opened his mouth to protest and I fired my last round. "You have been to Graceland." He cocked his head, leaning against the wall, not inserting his key card to open the door. "What's your favorite Elvis song, Scully?" I shook my head, bringing a look of horror to his face. "You...don't like Elvis?" he asked. "Mulder, I..." How could I break his heart this way? But neither could I lie. Mulder sighed and went into his room. My shoulders slumped and I went into my own room. It was nice, with expensive furnishings, a big TV, and a view of the Strip's gaudiness. I supposed this was a hotel rather than a motel, really. There was a room service menu, and a spa brochure. A knock came at the door and I opened it to find Mulder with a sheepish grin. "All you can eat buffet," he said. "You buying?" "Why not," he said, settling his hand between my shoulder blades. The touch was nice and I wanted to lean back against him. "You'll need sustenance for your evening ahead." I stiffened. "What does that mean?" He only grinned that evil look that told me I'd soon be very, very sorry. "Mulder?" I demanded, but the elevator doors were opening and he didn't answer me. We collected our food from the rich, elaborate buffet and claimed a booth. "What's the appeal?" I asked, digging into my piled high plate. "Of?" Mulder asked me, sticking the tines of his fork into one of the two desserts he'd picked up. In all the time I'd known him, Mulder always ate his dessert first. Occasionally I wondered why - was it a fear of missing the best part, or two many years of eating TV dinners? "Elvis. What's the deal?" "Ohhhh, Scully," he said, drawing the words out lavishly. My body responded to the sexuality in his tone. "How can you even ask that?" "He's a singer." "He's a symbol." Mulder met my eyes. "Where you see sideburns and a silver jumpsuit, I see a lifestyle. A fearlessness. He wasn't afraid of anything, Scully, especially sex." I still wasn't buying. "You'll see tonight," Mulder offered. "What's tonight?" I asked and he didn't answer. That was a bad sign - it was going to be like the motel he'd tried to check us into. I shrugged. I was used to it. I knew I'd be sleeping in a warm, dry bed - eventually - and that was all I cared about. "Ready to go?" Mulder stood. I rose to join him, one hand gesturing to my suit. "Am I dressed for the occasion?" He scrutinized me. "Don't you ever dress down?" he asked. "Don't you?" I eyed his suit right back. He put his arm around my waist, much to my surprise, and we walked out of the buffet. I couldn't even ask why he had that arm wrapped around my middle with his hand pressed warm and firm against my ribs. "How do we get out of here?" he asked and I led him through the casino and slot machines until we reached the door and reclaimed the rental car outside. Mulder took the wheel and I looked at the bright neons through the window. Mulder pulled in the lot of another aging hotel-casino and looked at me. I looked back, curious as to why he looked so happily expectant. "You think Elvis is here?" I asked. "This is where the photo was taken," he said and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "Are you ready?" Ready for what? I didn't ask, but got out of the car, following Mulder inside. I had to be the logical one. Mulder couldn't be trusted to rise above his emotions in this matter. Elvis Presley seemed to be his hero. I watched him pay the entry charge to the evening show. He tried to shield the transaction from my eyes with his body so I knew it was overpriced. He caught me watching him. "Scully?" "Yeah." "Are you lonesome tonight?" he asked. I resisted the urge to feel his forehead for evidence of fever. "Elvis joke," he said, looking dejected. "Great," I sighed. We took a bare table in the back of a room that smelled like alcohol and something more sinister. I'd expected Mulder would want to sit up front to better see the show. I prayed there would be no topless dancing girls. The light went down and the first overweight kareoke Elvis impersonator lurched onto the stage. There was a sad spattering of weak applause as he launched into "Jailhouse Rock." I couldn't watch; the man was going to slip a disc in his back with those moves. I looked at Mulder to see if he was enjoying the display. He had a permanent sort of wince glued to his face and his eyes were on the crowd. Looking for Elvis? An hour later, my palm adhered to my cheek and my eyes were almost closed with dazed boredom. I glanced at Mulder. He was still sitting at rapt attention watching the crowd. I rolled my eyes away. If I heard one more mangled version of "Jailhouse Rock," I was either going to run screaming or jump up on stage and torture them back. Mulder took my hand. My heart started thundering oddly and I sneaked another look at him. He was watching the crowd, but there were our two hands entwined on the table, looking like an alien species making love. It was getting very warm in the impersonators' lounge and I made an effort to sit up straight now that he'd awakened me. The lights dimmed a bit and a hush fell over the aged audience as the emcee (thankfully, not another Elvis type) announced their final act. From the reaction, I could tell he must be something special. Mulder's grip tightened on my hand. He fully expected his skinny old gray haired Elvis to strut out on stage. I watched him, hoping he wouldn't be too terribly disappointed. Still, the quiet and the waiting of the crowd was almost magic in itself. I could feel the anticipation swelling in my own chest - completely silly and irrational, I knew, but there was Mulder's hand covering mine. For a second, I wanted it to be him who walked out on that stage. The King. Elvis. A thin, Japanese man reminiscent slightly of the young Elvis strolled out onto he stage. He had no costume or fancy moves, but he had presence. He began to sing "the American Trilogy" in a haunting voice. H wasn't much as an impersonator, but as a singer, he exulted. I could feel Mulder's disappointment, though. He always set himself up for disappointment. Poor man. It was his lot in life. The singer finished and thunderous applause broke the spell he'd held over the room. "Encore!" one of the seniors jumped up to yell. "That's him," Mulder said and proceeded to try to separate my arm from my body as he headed out of the lounge still clutching my hand like a security blanket. "What?" I hissed as we stumbled together through the darkness. My arm was completely numb. We broke into a run, pursuing Mulder's phantom through the casino, probably looking like security on the trail of a crooked gambler. "Wait," Mulder appealed and I saw the face of the man when he turned. It did look like the man in the slide he'd shown me. It looked about as much like Elvis as Tommy Lee Jones did - which is to say, not at all. He turned and looked back at us and only hurried faster. Why was he running? I wondered. Because we wanted to talk to him? did he feel guilty about something? "Lost him." Mulder stopped, dejected, in the midst of a dark bar, turning around, trying to catch sight of his quarry again. "Mulder." I pointed to the elevator doors, sliding closed in one corner. We approached and watched the numbers light up. They stopped at three, and then the empty car returned to us. "Three, please," Mulder said with that determined look on his face. I pressed the button and the doors closed, sealing us into the small car together. We emerged into the motel hallway. Mulder looked one way and I looked the other. There had to be twenty-five rooms in this floor. "Damn it," Mulder stomped his foot. I raised my hand in gesture to a door that hung ajar. I had the feeling that behind it lurked the curious eyes of a skinny old gray haired man. Mulder pushed on the door and almost fell into the room when he met with no resistance. I followed with a little more grace, but not much. "So. You found me." The door closed behind us with an ominous click and we were alone with him. The skinny white haired old man. He didn't look much like Elvis to me. He circled us and I willed Mulder to remember to breathe. He was so tense I could feel it, standing next to him. I felt none of his apprehension, meeting the man's eyes straightforwardly. "Who have we found?" I asked, my voice sounding harsh to my own ears. "No one." His voice was shivery. Damaged somehow. By what? The catalogue in my doctor's brain offered many possibilities, none of them conclusive. I watched him as he sat down on the bed. "He thinks he knows, but you doubt," he murmured, staring at me. His eyes were intense. "What's your story?" I folded my arms and felt Mulder's gaze burn into me. I glared back - wasn't he going to say anything? "Are you him?" He frowned as though he disliked my directness. He reminded me of the creepy old men who ran the conspiracy of secrets we so often ran up against. Operation Guitarpick, I thought satirically, paying aged American rock stars for... ...for what? Why would Elvis fake his death? "Who are you?" he asked. "You're right, we haven't been properly introduced," I said, growing annoyed at my own snappishness. "Scully -" Mulder said and took a step forward, his badge open and flat in his outstretched hand. "I'm a great admirer of your work," he said gently to the man on the bed. The man didn't look away from my face. It was unnerving me to some degree. "And you?" he asked. I shook my head, barely a movement at all. He smiled. "You're FBI, CIA, something like that?" he asked perceptively...or not, since we were still in our work clothes. Mulder was sitting back and frowning. His idol wasn't paying attention to him. Don't you know there's such a thing as trying too hard, Mulder? I though, wishing there was some way I could tell him without crushing him. "FBI," I said. "Why are you here?" he asked again. "What interest does the FBI have in me now? My affairs have been closed for twenty years." I raised an eyebrow at him and his idol was more like Mulder than I realized because he reacted. "If you believe in dead rock stars, do you believe in UFOs?" he asked. Mulder practically danced in his chair. "What do you know about UFOs?" Hundreds of people every year fall pray to all manner of delusions - believing they are Napoleon, Joan of Arc, Cleopatra...even Elvis. And they believe in UFOs, too. Mulder should not be taking this seriously, I thought. "We're close to Dreamland," Elvis told us. "Is that your house?" The sarcasm stung in my mouth. Graceland, Neverland, Dreamland...why were they looking at me like that? "Area 51," Mulder said with relish. Suddenly, I wanted to go home. "Elvis Abducted by Aliens" - hadn't I seen that in the checkout line the last time I was at the grocery store? "Did they take you?" Mulder asked, eager. "Do you believe in aliens?" Elvis asked me. "I -" I was at a loss for words. I'd been abducted by "aliens" more than once, seen their ships, felt their call, and yet I could not say, "I believe." Mulder's disappointment was palpable. "There's more than you ever imagined," Elvis said, turning to Mulder, his believer, his puppet and tool. "You've got to go there." "No!" I cried loudly, my heart racing. "It's too dangerous!" "I've been there," Elvis said and I saw the changes in Mulder's eyes, the shift in focus and concentration. He was transfixed, like a man locked in a staring contest with a cobra. "Mulder come on!" I cried, standing up and smacking the table in front of me to get his attention. I was near tears and didn't know why, except I knew Mulder and knew he would put himself in danger to follow this man - who was not to be trusted. He didn't look at me and I did something I shouldn't have. I walked out, letting the door slam hard behind me. I stood in the hall for minutes, pressing my hands against the cool, grimy wall, gaining control over myself. The Japanese impersonator walked by, his head down and his stride purposeful. "Hey, I liked your act," I said casually. He looked at me, his eyes finding focus on my face. "Thanks," he flashed me bright white teeth and walked on. I headed back to the hotel where we were saying catching a cab since Mulder had the keys to the rental car. Reaching the gaudy hotel, I didn't go to my room immediately. First I gambled - and lost - what had to be $100 in coins in the slot machines. Throwing money away. My stomach hurt, but my head was worse. Worrying about Mulder. My partner. I sincerely doubted Skinner knew where we were. That meant we didn't have official sanctioning or backup. I started walking through the hotel, looking at the closed shops in this Bazaar, listening to the caterwauling singer in the nightclub. I desperately needed aspirin. A moving walkway beckoned, promising to lead me to the hotel next door with a medieval theme. The Excalibur. I stepped on, my mind still with Mulder. He was going to be angry I'd left him alone with Elvis, but I was angry he was acting like a fool. The shops at Excalibur had much more interesting merchandise in their windows. A bar promised it served every beer known to man. I wondered if I'd be able to sleep. Damn it, Mulder, I thought walking into a convenience shop and paying $2.50 for a travel size packet of aspirin. Emerging, a secluded spot caught my attention. I wandered down a short, deserted hallway and discovered a charming glass walled chapel. It was beautiful. Land of the quick, ill thought out wedding, I thought, but lingered, walking in, closing my eyes for the slightest moment, imagining. "Can I help you?" My eyes flew open. I had no business indulging in fantasy. Especially not the white taffeta and Mulder variety. Mulder. Terrific. "No, I was just, uh -" A kindly old man was walking toward me. "It's a beautiful spot." He nodded serenely and I felt like I had to keep talking. "If I was going to get married. Which I'm not." I was completely babbling, and I didn't babble, as a rule. "I should go." I practically ran back to my room, stopping short outside Mulder's door, trying to decide if he was in there. The crack under the door, so I couldn't tell if the light was on. I pressed my ear self consciously against the door and heard nothing. I couldn't decide if I should knock. So I didn't, slipping into my own room, weariness heavy between my shoulders. I went directly into the bathroom and swallowed my expensive aspirin, knowing it would be a long time before it kicked in. I lay down and felt the blood fight its way through constricted vessels to my brain. end of 1/3 Dreamland, part two by eponine119 eponine119@att.net The slam of the door next to mine woke me. I sat up, confused and disoriented. Mulder. I raced to the door, opening it and stumbling into the bright hallway, pounding on the door to Mulder's room. But he'd been going out. Shit. I raced to the elevators, but he was gone. I looked at the closed doors and down at the patterned carpet. I wasn't wearing shoes. I didn't know what time it was. I knew where he'd gone. I slammed back into my room, furious, putting on my shoes and grabbing my bag. My hair was sticking up every way and anger burned in my eyes. Before I finished battling my wild hair into some semblance of normalcy, the door to my hotel room opened. I dropped the brush ad pulled my gun. "Stop or I'll shoot," I snarled, only to find I was pointing my gun at Mulder. I lowered it with a sigh. "You're so beautiful, Scully," he said. "Where the hell have you been, Mulder?" He'd never tried compliments before, but maybe Elvis had given him some pointers. "I love you so much." The way his voice cracked a little on "love" made me wonder at his sincerity, but his eyes were serious. "Do you have a head injury?" I demanded, reaching for him, even though I wouldn't be able to inspect his skull without a stepladder. He dodged me and bounced onto my bed. "Mulder," I said, approaching cautiously. "What's going on?" "I bought you something." From the inner pocket of his jacket, he produced a small velvet box. His jacket looked like it had been through a war. He popped the box open and inside was a diamond ring. "This is for you, Scully," he told me. I took three steps back immediately, my hand on my gun. "Who are you and what have you done with Mulder?" "I am Mulder." "Then put that thing away." I have no idea why the sight of a $5000 ring terrified me so badly. I took a step closer to him. "Where have you been?" "Area 51." "Area 51 is 400 miles from here, Mulder, how did you go, by hovercraft?" Sarcasm again. I was too tired and scared to make the effort to be nice. "By car." He must have noticed my frown because he said, "How long have I been gone?" "A couple of hours," I answered. He held up his watch and I waved away the missing time exclamation that was bound to follow before he even started it. Mulder's watch was complex, but the settings were alterable. Except Mulder didn't know how to change them, since I'd been the one to help him with the whole "Spring forward" thing a month or so ago. This meant "Elvis" was at least as technologically advanced as I. "What did he do to you?" I asked, sitting on the bed and checking him for skull fractures and bumps. He thought I was coming onto him and slid his hand up my shirt. "They, Scully. The aliens. They told me so much. If we don't change our ways and embrace Love, we'll die horribly." "We, specifically, or the whole human race?" I inquired, wondering how I could send him back to first base now that he'd gone to second. "All mankind, that's where Elvis comes in. With his songs and -" "Just checking." Since it wasn't under alien orders, I plucked his hand out of my shirt before I told him what I thought. "That's a load of crap, Mulder." I felt his forehead for fever but it was cool. "Abductees have been spouting that for a couple of years, at least." "But it made me realize how I feel about you. I really do love you, Scully." He looked deeply into my eyes and his fingers stroked the base of my neck. I decided to enjoy his delusion while it lasted and let him kiss me. Which is how I found the implant. I ran my fingertips over it twice, checking, making sure. Same size, shape and placement as mine. "Mulder, we have a problem," I said. "You bet we do," he said, humping my thigh. Make that two problems. I shoved him off me and he pouted adorably. "What're you doing?" "I'm saving myself for marriage," I told him. "Mulder, you have an implant in your neck. You have to tell me what that man did to you." "We went to Area 51 and I lost six days. I told you, Scully," Mulder said. It was clear that he believed what he was saying. Which meant he'd been brainwashed, either by Elvis or by that thing in his neck. I couldn't call the Bureau's deprogrammers about this because frankly it would make Mulder look even more foolish than he did already. "Go to sleep, Mulder," I said. "I'll worry about this." "Okay," he agreed and was soon snoring against my knee as I sat up and watched over him. The implant couldn't be removed. I couldn't explain the dementia but it would probably fade in time. Even if they didn't, it wasn't life affecting. Except for the part where he now thought we were deeply in love and should be married. That was a new one. The notion that it would fade in time made me sad. I was startled awake as the door to my hotel room burst open. "Okay, that's it, those key card locks do *not* work," I cried, drawing my gun on the intruder, who was Mulder's old Elvis. "You've got to help me!" he cried wildly. "They're after me!" "They, the aliens?" I asked. "They! Them! You know who!" he hollered. Who was on first, but Elvis looked genuinely afraid. "The nameless government men at Area 51 who've been trying to kill me for thirty years! They've found me because of you! You've got to help me." "Please, just calm down and tell me what you want me to do," I suggested. Elvis sighed theatrically and walked out. "Was that Elvis?" Mulder sat up. Great timing, now he wakes up, I thought. "Yeah, he says they're trying to kill him and since it's our fault -" "We have to help him!" Mulder cried, jumped up from the bed, and dashed out of the room. I sat back on the bed, ditched again. I hadn't expected the love programming to wear off overnight. It had been really nice to sleep in Mulder's arms all night. The kind of thing a girl could get used to. I promised myself, not for the first time, that if this weird sexual thing didn't work out by the time we got back to DC, I was going to give up and find myself a man. Then I did the only thing I could do, given the circumstances. I went down to the all you can eat breakfast buffet to stuff my face. "Mind if I join you?" I looked up from my oatmeal to see the Japanese Elvis impersonator/singer from the night before, holding a tray and smiling at me. "Go ahead," I gestured. "I'm Dana." "Dana, I'm Joe," he said, shaking my hand vigorously. "Where's your partner?" "Um." My guard went up instantly. He was reaching into his pocket to get something. "Maybe you should hold it right there," I suggested. "ID," he told me, displaying his beautiful white teeth again as he flung the wallet onto the table between us. "FBI?" I asked, picking it up. "CIA," he said as I opened the badge. I scrutinized the paperwork. It looked okay to me and I passed it back. "This must be about Elvis?" I guessed. "Do you know where he is?" "No, are you one of the ones who's trying to kill him?" "Good god, no!" Joe cried. "It's worse than I thought. I'm trying to protect him." "My partner's with him. Are they in danger?" He was eating the grapes off my plate. Mulder would have done the some thing. I watched him formulate his reply. "Agent Scully, because of your partner's actions, people are taking this very seriously," Joe explained. "Media attention is growing to a swarm that's about to descend." "How do we know that wasn't the goal in the first place?" I asked, my mind working. "Maybe this Elvis wanted press so he set the whole thing up." "We can't let that happen," Joe said with incredible seriousness. "Are you telling me that he really is -?" I asked. Joe bumped my hand with his but I didn't let it distract me. "I'm not at liberty to say," he informed me, pushing back from the table. "Can you tell me why someone with a voice as great as yours is in the CIA?" We'd been talking long enough for my stomach to realize just how much food I'd stuffed into it and I wasn't sure I could move. "Thanks for the compliment, Dana," he said, meeting my eyes warmly. "But I'd never make it as a pro. Besides, I like the CIA too much." "Yeah, I definitely like the FBI more than I'd like being a rock star," I said. "Do you sing?" I laughed. "Is there any way I can help -?" "Once the media gets here, I'm not sure anyone will be able to help," Joe said direly. "If you see my partner, tell him to call," I suggested as he headed for the exit. I dialed Mulder's cell phone number as I waited for my stomach to explode but he didn't answer. I started to walk around the gaudy hotel, looking for Mulder or a gym. I found neither. I worried about Mulder's implant. I had no reason to believe it was recent except his crazy behavior, and ditching me was far from unprecedented. I might as well take advantage and visit the spa or a show. I was going to check my room once more to see if Mulder was there but got sidetracked by a huge commotion. There were bright lights and a crowd. I don't usually care about celebrities, but all this Elvis stuff had gone to my head and I wanted to see who it was. I was sorry. It was the Stupendous Yappi. "Ze pyramid is a great source of psychic power," he was telling a camera while aerobicizing his eyebrows. I moved a step closer to hear what he was saying. "Elvis know the power of the pyramid." Elvis. This must be the press Joe mentioned. He was right to be scared. I turned my head and saw Mary Hart and her entourage. Wow, this really was big news. "Eh! Mon dieu! This woman is an alien autopsy doctor! She was on the Fox network!" Yappi began to scream, pointing his finger straight at me. The crowd around him gasped and it seemed the whole casino fell into silence, staring at me. The autopsy doctor who felt fat after eating too much breakfast. "Truth or Humbug, no?" Yappi accused. "No!" I liked, but my face was red just like when I used to lie a little girl. "What can you tell me about Elvis and the aliens?" Yappi shoved his microphone in my face. For a second, I was mesmerized by the red light above the camera. Then I ran for my life. I worked off breakfast on a circuitous route that finally lost the camera crew. Exhausted, I fell onto the bed in my room. I remembered the lock was untrustworthy, so I got up and put a chair in front of it and flipped on the TV. Yappi was broadcasting live. I guess an Elvis sighting in Las Vegas is a like a car chase in Los Angeles or a minor political scandal in D.C. They had the "instant replay" of me looking like an idiot. "I'm gonna kill you, Mulder," I vowed in frustration and pounded the off button on the TV. hat was when I heard Mulder giggling from next door. Drawing my gun, I went into the hall and burst through his door like someone in a James Cameron movie. "Give me one good reason not to kill you." I only wished I had a laser sight on my gun so I could see the red dot on his forehead. "I need your help" Mulder said, looking pathetic. "Not good enough," I informed him, taking a step closer. Mulder looked panicked - I guess he thought I really was going to shoot him. He knocked me down and I dropped the gun. "Let me up," I ordered, struggling under his weight. "Let me up, Mulder." "Prove to me you're Scully and not some green blooded clone come here to trick me." Mulder's eyes were on fire as he pushed me back onto the carpet. I don't know about you, but it's kind of hard to think of things to prove I'm me when Mulder's laying on me. Every heaving breath he took pressed into my ribs. This was turning him on. It was turning me on, too. I pressed my lips to his and found a gun placed at my temple a moment later. "Now I know you're not her." "Mulder, I am." I sat up and the gun stayed next to my head. "You don't want to do this. It's me, Scully. Where's Elvis?" "Hidden." After a long, searching look into my eyes, he lowered the gun. "The only way to save him is to convince them he's not really who he is." "Mulder, I don't believe he's really who he is," I said. He was still staring at me. "Then why didn't you tell the Yapp-ster that?" He was very serious, that almost religious serious he reserved for subjects like his sister and my abduction and the New York Knicks. "Mulder, I'm scared of the Stupendous Yappi." "I didn't think you were afraid of anyone," Mulder said. I only nodded. "Yeah, well, he's probably scared of you, too." 'Thanks, Mulder." I said, squeezing his shoulder. He always knew what to say to make me feel better. "Where did you stash Elvis? I've got an idea." "Are you sure this is going to work?" Elvis asked, looking around at the airport, no doubt afraid that Yappi and friends would swoop down upon him at any moment. I was moderately afraid of the same thing. "Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay," Mulder assured him. "Mulder, stop comforting the prisoner," I ordered and tugged Elvis along by his handcuffs. He looked at me like I was being mean, but Mulder was going to ruin the ruse if he kept doing things like patting the man on the shoulders. I flashed my badge at the stewardess as we boarded the plane and she smiled back wanly. We took our seats. I tried to look the part of a tough FBI agent, frowning, as Mulder and Elvis whispered back and forth. I opened the magazine I'd brought but my gaze kept wandering over to them. Elvis didn't really look like himself - the press had to know who they were looking for in order to find him. He looked enough like a dangerous prisoner to be convincing. I was glad I'd thought of it. Once the plane took off, we had four safe hours until the plane landed again. Hopefully carting Elvis off to DC would be enough. I wasn't certain what we were going to do with him once we got him there, but maybe Mulder would contribute an idea. "You know, I always wanted to be a songwriter," Mulder was telling Elvis. I closed my eyes to try to sleep. How much trouble could they get into on a moving airplane? When I woke up, there was a large bosomed blonde stewardess sitting on Mulder's lap. I glared at him but he didn't notice. My fists itched for contact with his face, but I knit my fingers in my lap and fumed until the plane landed. I strode away from them in the airport, walking quickly and angrily and searching my carryon for my car keys. I doubted Mulder and his new buddy would notice. "Scully, where're you going?" I heard pathetically from behind me. Don't stop, I thought, even as my feet stopped moving and I turned back to him. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Nothing," I said. "Nothing at all." "You have the keys," he reminded me, gesturing to Elvis's handcuffs. Of course. He needed something from me. I handed it over and Mulder unlocked Elvis, apologizing profusely for having done such a thing. "What next?" he asked, looking about nervously for the men he believed were trying to kill him. Mulder raised his eyebrows at me, looking for an opinion. "What?" I asked. "Let's ask Skinner about the Witness Protection Program," Mulder said to me. "You can't be serious." "We talked about it on the plane, Scully. It's essentially what Elvis has done for himself, and now he needs some help." I shook my head and took a step away. Mulder caught my hand and held it, his skin soft on mine and melting my heart, even though I didn't want to let him. "Skinner won't take us seriously without you," Mulder told me. How could I say no? "You want me to what?" Skinner demanded, ripping his glasses off to glare at Mulder, me, and Elvis. "No way. No way can I authorize this. Even if there was definitive proof -" He was looking at me. I was embarrassed. This always fell down to me. "He does seem to be in some degree of danger, sir," I said evenly. "Whether he is Elvis or just seems to be doesn't make any difference if the murderers out there believe that he is." "I -" Skinner began, but was interrupted as the door to his office flew open and Kimberly gestured helplessly as the Stupendous Yappi and his entourage burst in. Yappi stopped to stare at me as Mulder grabbed Elvis and ran out the other door, the one the Smoking Man used to use. "What is this alien autopsy doctor doing meeting with a director of the FBI?" Yappi asked the camera for his viewers. I groaned. "Who the hell are you?" Skinner demanded. "Agent Scully, what's going on here?" "She works for the FBI?" Yappi cried. He'd just hit the jackpot in his world. "Get out of here," Skinner ordered. Yappi yelled as the armed security guards dragged him out. "What was that?" He turned to me. "It's a long story, sir. That's only one of the people who is chasing Mulder's Elvis. And it looks like they're getting close." "What are you going to do?" Skinner asked me. I shook my head. "I don't know, sir." "Let me know if there's any way that I can help," Skinner offered sincerely. If Mulder was there, he would have reminded him that the Witness Protection Program would help, but I thanked him and went out through the back door, the hairs on the back of my neck rising in fear of Yappi's finding me again. I dialed Mulder's cell phone since he was nowhere to be seen. "Where are you?" I asked when he answered. "This isn't a secure line," he reminded me. Sometimes I wondered if it was me he didn't trust. "Why is the Stupendous Yappi so obsessed with you?" "Must be my stunning height and gorgeous beauty," I sniped. "Thought it was something like that," Mulder responded with that deadpan tone that always sounded serious but left me wondering if I was supposed to laugh. "It's your guy E -" "Scully," he warned. I rounded the corner and opened the door to the basement office. Mulder jumped about a foot, sending a sheaf of papers spraying into the air. I stopped in the doorway because I was laughing so hard and he got up to slam the door behind me. "You could knock," he glared. "You could have locked the door," I reminded him. "Where's -?" But I'd found him. Elvis was cowering out of sight behind the file cabinet. He looked ridiculous. "What's all this?" I asked, helping Mulder pick up the papers. "Our file on him." "You're letting him read his own file?" I cried. "You've read your file." "That's different," I frowned, and knew that Mulder couldn't see how it was different. "We've got to get him someplace safe," Mulder told me. "Where were you thinking?" I asked. end of 2/3 Dreamland, part three by eponine119 eponine119@att.net "Is that who I think it is?" Langly eyed Elvis suspiciously as he opened the door to the Lone Gunmen's private hideaway. Mulder nodded and I realized it was Langly who'd sent him on this goosechase in the first place. "Hey guys, look who's here," he called to the others. "Scully," Frohike said, looking pleased to see me. His response brightened my day incredibly. "Not her, you dope, him." "Mulder," Frohike said in much the same tone. Byers grabbed his head and directed his gaze toward Elvis, who was lounging nondescriptly in a corner. "Ah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Presley," he said, holding out his hand for Elvis to shake. Elvis looked amazed at his straightforwardness. He must have been relieved after all of Mulder's drooling. "We can't just hide him again, we have to do something to draw the attention away from him and ourselves," I said. Five pairs of male eyes swung to look at me. "Like what?" Byers asked. "You're the idea guys, not me," I told them and claimed the understuffed easy chair, wanting to be moderately comfortable during the idea session that was to follow. Elvis meditated and shared nutritional advice. Langly smoked dope. Frohike beat his best score on PacMan. Byers trimmed his nails. Mulder paced. No one thought of a damned thing. "We can guard him for you, but only for the night," Byers offered. "Then you have to get him out of here." "What if there was like a whole bunch of Elvises," Langly proposed. "And they all claimed to be the real one? Then you could say you're the real one too and no one'd believe you." "Hiding in plain sight," I said, checking with Mulder, who was nodding, that certain sparkle in his eyes. It was a good idea. "Only problem is, where do we get Elvis impersonators in DC?" Byers asked. I started to grin and so did Mulder. "Oh, no," Byers cried as we turned on him but it was too late. "This is ridiculous. I look nothing like Elvis," Langly complained, sober, a few hours later. He did look strange in his silver sequined jumpsuit with ratty blond hair hanging down around his shoulders. At least Frohike was being a good sport. I think Byers was too embarrassed to say anything. There was one set of fake sideburns left and Mulder turned to me. "No way," I informed him. "If the Stupendous Yappi sees me dressed up like Elvis, I don't even want to know what he'll say in his informercial." "So don't watch." Mulder was beginning to stroke one of the sideburns down over my cheek with gentle fingers. "I'm your decoy," I told him in a low voice. "You know Yappi'll follow me anywhere." "I got five more guys from the 'net who'll help out," Langly told us, looking up from his computer screen. "I don't think it's enough." "You know what we have to do," Mulder said to me. He yanked off the sideburn and I yelped with pain. "Skinner said he'd help in any way possible," I replied. "You want me to WHAT?" Skinner yelled, then lowered his voice. "I know I said I'd help you but there are limits and you are dangerously close to crossing a line here -" "C'mon, sir, you'll look cute," Mulder prompted. "I don't even want to think where that comment is coming from!" Skinner roared. "I can't believe I'm doing this," Skinner growled some time later, clad in a nice gold sequined cape and Elvis outfit. We'd decided to leave him hairless rather than finding him an Elvis wig. We were running out of time. From the window in Skinner's office we could see the newsvans circling the FBI building, hoping for something - anything - to confirm the rumors were true. "I will get you two for this," he promised. "What is going on down here?" Assistant Director Kersch stormed into Skinner's office, flanked by Spender and Fowley. They didn't look triumphant for long. "You can't go in there! Hey!" Kim, Skinner's assistant, chased the media teams as they burst into the office with their lights glaring and cameras focused. They stopped, but not because of her screaming attempts to be a security guard. They stopped because they were faced with no less than fifteen Elvises, old and young, short and tall, fat and thin, bearded and blond, male and female. I thought Diana Fowley made a particularly lovely Elvis, but stomped on Mulder's foot when I saw the look he was giving her. "Where is the FBI hiding the real Elvis! The public needs to know!" Yappi's eyebrows were moving so quickly I thought he was going to start to hemorrhage. "I'm the real Elvis," Kersch stated in his rumbling voice and burst into "Jailhouse Rock." Soon, he was singing three part harmony with Byers and Fowley. "No, I'm the real Elvis," Spender insisted and warbled, "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You." He was looking in my direction as he did this and I took another frightened step to stand behind Mulder, who I was already using as a shield from Yappi. "Shut up, punk, I'm the real Elvis!" Langly shoved Spender and threw his arms open for the cameras. "Ask me anything." "What's with the hair?" asked the Brigette Neilsen look-a-like that followed Yappi everywhere. Langly looked like he might pass out because she'd deigned to speak to him. "I have to get out of here," I murmured to Mulder, trying to push him in front of me. "Are you kidding? This is great. I wish I had a camera," he turned to me, grinning wider than I'd ever seen him smile. Elvis - the real one, Mulder's Elvis - who was still wearing his jeans and flannel shirt, made his way over to Yappi. "If you want to talk to the King, talk to me," he advised. My heart stopped. He looked and sounded like the actual Elvis in that moment and I expected this charade to crumble. "You are all nuts! None of you are the Elvis!" Yappi tossed his head and with a snap of his fingers, gathered his troops to go. "It worked," I whispered to Mulder, who nodded. "Thank you, thank you very much." Elvis was shaking hands with all of his alter egos as he prepared to depart. We'd booked him on a flight to Alaska. He said he'd always been curious to see that part of the country and seemed happy about the arrangements. "That was..." Skinner began, shaking his head, as Elvis left. "...amazing," Fowley summed up and for once no one argued with her. This little group of ours had bonded, for one brief moment in time, and all because of Mulder's belief in the everlasting life of a rock and roll legend. "Somebody hand me that glue remover," Frohike said, and the spell was broken. I turned to Mulder and he turned to me, taking my arm and we set off to our basement office together. "Do you wonder if that really could have been him?" I asked Mulder as we walked down the stairs. The warm feeling of his arm at my back was reassuring and I looked up at him. "I don't have to wonder, Scully. I know," Mulder told me. "All of those people up there, they know it too. Why can't you believe this, for once in your life, why can't you feel something and go with it?" "What is it I'm supposed to be feeling?" I asked and he looked disappointed in me. That's my lot in life, I know, to constantly disappoint Mulder with my behavior and my speech and my hardheaded lack of faith. "Magic," he leaned in close to tell me. I had felt it, for just one tiny second back there in Skinner's office. Not the magic generated by the man, exactly, but the magic that was cooperation and people who don't even get along on a normal day coming together, united in one common goal. But I couldn't tell Mulder that. I didn't even have the words to try. As we settled into our customary places, I knew that was all right too. Mulder looked at me before picking up the file that had sent us on that fateful trip. "That's what Elvis is about, Scully. Universal love and acceptance." "Really?" I asked. "Really," he nodded. - one month later - "Are you ready for this?" Mulder asked, his hand poised on the remote control for his television. I nodded, although my stomach was in knots. He flipped the TV to the Fox network, where a special presentation was just beginning. I fought the urge to cover my eyes. "The Cult of Elvis," intoned the announcer, "Hosted by the Stupendous Yappi is brought to you by Nestle's Toll House Morsels." "Mmm, toll house cookies," Mulder breathed. "Is it just me or is it cold in here?" I asked, my mind also suddenly filled with chewy, oven fresh cookies. Why is that you can order a pizza and they'll deliver it to your door, but not homebaked cookies? There has to be a need... Mulder put his arms around me and hugged me against him, our legs tangling together on his couch. I froze momentarily in surprise. It wasn't like Mulder to go around grabbing me. Not that I didn't like it... "Better?" he whispered into my ear. "Mmm-hmm," I mumbled. I definitely wasn't feeling cold anymore. Yappi appeared on the screen after the commercials, walking in front of a superimposed field of stars. He stopped, looked at the camera and raised an eyebrow. I groaned. Mulder said, "We should be playing the Yappi drinking game." "I didn't realize you were such a fan of his," I murmured. "Sssh." Mulder almost kissed my hair in his effort to make me quiet. "...As the millenium draws to a close, there are questions to be answered. Some people believe that The King - Elvis - is the Second Coming of Christ. Some people believe that he is the Antichrist." "He's weird," I said to Mulder, who mumbled an agreement. "What is this alien autopsy doctor doing hunting for Elvis in the nation's capitol, Las Vegas?" Yappi asked rhetorically as a shot of me, looking confused, filled the screen. I whimpered and burrowed closer to Mulder. "What nation's capitol?" Mulder demanded. "And wait until you see the secret Elvis cult we uncovered operating high in the United States government," Yappi tantalized. A shot flashed onto the screen of our mini-Elvis convention in Skinner's office. Langly made the Star Trek "live long and prosper" symbol at the camera. "Then I will show you my visions of the future and how they involve this top secret Elvis cult and their plans for your future," Yappi promised. "This man's insane!" Mulder cried. I found it reassuring. The phone started to ring. Then my cell phone began to chime and within a second, Mulder's joined in the fray. Suddenly, we were extremely possible. "Turn it off," I told Mulder. "Are you sure?" he looked pained, between me and the television, as though he wasn't sure he should. "Are you going to answer that?" "No," I found my phone and flung it across the room, aiming for the TV's off button, but I missed. "Scully?" Mulder was looking at me like he was afraid of me. "We have better things to do," I informed him, putting my arms around him again as the phones rang and Yappi droned. In time, Mulder came to agree. Maybe there was something to Elvis's cult of peace and love after all. the end. Comments welcome -- eponine119@att.net -- eponine119 eponine119@att.net "I'm sorry, did I just hear you advocate passion overriding analytical resolve? Scully, are you suddenly believing in aliens?" Trevor to Claire, "Cupid"