From: nonnie72@aol.com (Nonnie 72) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW STORY: "Dreams" (1/1) Date: 17 Jun 1995 12:00:28 -0400 hello, it's me again, back with another day in the life of the X-files characters. its kind of a prequel to "Rain," written mainly because i have received threats concerning my presence on this earth if i do not write another story, so here we go. enjoy... -=o0o=- ROMANCE WARNING this is not an NC-17 story, not by far; because i would be permanently embarrassed if i ever even though of posting one. it _does_ contain (very minimal) romance, dealing with feelings but not actual encounters. there is *no* sex. Standard Disclaimer BS: _The X-files_ and everything else in it belongs to *the* Chris Carter; his Ten Thirteen Productions and FOX Network. This idea is m-i-n-e, so go ahead, sue me (to steal from a particularly innovative writer whose name i cant think of), i like being poor, really : ) "Dreams" Fox Mulder sighed. Tossed fitfully. Watched some TV. The terribly annoying green clock light blinked at him: 3:21 a.m. He sighed again. Pulling up the worn pink blanket around his chin, he stared at the smooth white ceiling. Funny how normal cracks and splashes look different in the morning light. Traffic was quiet outside, and a full moon shone through the open blinds. Mulder turned and breathed in the pungent smell of the black leather couch. It was an odd smell, hard to describe. he mulled, somewhat sleepily. He smiled to himself as a fleeting image of a lovely red-head flitted through his mind, then disappeared. Broken shards of conformed thought floated in front of his eyes, whispering away as dark sleep claimed yet another tired victim.~ Mulder awoke to a blinding white light. He tried to put his hand up but something held him down with concrete force, and he was content to just squeeze his eyes as tight as he could. He felt a sudden tingling from below, but could not locate the focus of the pressure. Pins and needles shot through his legs and up through his torso, making his heart accelerate and his jaw itch. Suddenly the light was gone, as if some one had pulled the plug. He opened his eyes to find himself bathed in darkness. Abrupt flashes of light gave him glimpses of his surroundings, little, confusing puzzle pieces. Mulder had enough blue-ish pieces for the ceiling, or whatever was above him, and some odd gray and black fragments that were delivered when he looked to the side. He discerned from the cold pressure on his back that he was lying on a sort of metal table. The rest of Mulder's body felt a warming heat upon it, like a sun lamp of some sort. He literally could hear his pale winter-time skin sizzling under the heat radiation. He was gonna have scars from this thing. The heat intensified, and along with it a soft white glow grew in the distance. This light came closer and then stopped, looking very much like a slightly dim light bulb was being shone in his face. Mulder looked around him. He appeared strapped to the table, held down by a soft, yet extremely strong wisp of material. His body felt cramped and sore, and the tinglings had slowly subsided. But strangely, he didn't feel alarmed of his condition in the least. A cool breeze flowed over him, and goose bumps popped up all over his skin. He realized with a rather casual feeling that he was stark naked. The flowing air became colder, and harsher, stinging his burned pink skin. The tingles came back, flowing through his body at unequaled pulses of energy. The tingles stopped suddenly, and a blanket appeared out of nowhere, covering his whole body. The white light came again, warming him, and faint cries echoed in the distance. Mulder's heart beat stepped up as he recognized a plaintful voice in the white-hot illumination. "Fox..." whispered the bit of sound. "Fox..." "Samantha!" He screamed, straining against his bonds. "Samantha!" "I'm here, Fox..." it tickled his ear, suddenly close and faded. "I'm here, and it's so wonderful...Can you see the light, Fox? Can you see it?" "Light..." she sounded so happy. "Sam...Where are you? Come home..." "I can't, Fox," he could hear the smile in her voice. "They treat me good here. You stay here with us, Fox. We won't hurt you." "Sam...I'll stay...I...Can I at least see you?" "No, Fox. That's part of the game. You can't see, or hear, or feel. You can't smell or taste. It's just us. You and me. Our minds. Together." "Game?" he tried to see through the light. "Sam? Where are you? Sam?" "Come with us, Fox. Play with me. Protect me from the aliens." Fear edged her sweet voice. "Yes..." "Forget about *her*." A sudden brush of coldness swept over Mulder's body. "Who..." Mulder murmured, feeling sleepy again. "The red-haired one. The doctor. She doesn't Believe." "Scully?" "If that's what you call her. She is holding you back from us. You Believe. You are truly one of us." Her voice was leaning on the edge of persuasive. Mulder moaned beneath the light, the blanket was doing little to protect him. "Who's 'us'?" He licked his dry lips again. "Are you thirsty, Fox? Do you want something to drink?" The voice skillfully skirted the question. "You can't see...How do you know?" He was becoming suspicious. "We know all, Fox." His mind was racing. He knew Samantha, this wasn't her. She was never this conniving. Mulder rolled his eyes back in frustration. If only he could see...if only... A clear, wonderful voice pierced the coldness. It warmed his heart just to hear it. "Mulder? Mulder, where are you? Mulder! Pick up this phone right now! I know you're there. Mulder!" He could picture Scully's graceful eyebrow arch in frustration and worry. "Scully! Scully! I'm here! Scully!" "Mulder? Mulder!" Her voice faded into the light, and a metallic click echoed through his mind. "Scully! Don't hang up! I'm right here! Scully!" The light brightened, and he could no longer see anything at all. Samantha's voice rang around him. "Fox? Stay with us, Fox. Stay." she pleaded. "NO!" He cried from under the light. "I can't stay!" "Mulder." This voice was new and different, harsh, deep. He shrank under the blanket. "Go away." he called feebly. "Mulder, we want you to stay." This voice struck a chord, a familiar, painful one. "Samantha?" he said, wary. "We are One, Mister Mulder. One and the same. Join us." Mulder's eyes watered. "Can I see her?" The voice was quiet for a second, then an image flashed before his eyes. Samantha's deep blue eyes looked down at him, sad and innocent. Then she was gone, a fleeting dream-like facsimile. Mulder squeezed his eyes tight. The demanding ring of the telephone ripped shrilly through his brain. The machine clicked on. "Hello, this is Fox Mulder. Leave a message, please." "Mulder, are you there? Mulder? Mulder! Pick up the phone!" At the sound of the voice of the one person left that he loved, he picked himself up and fled the room to hide.~ "Dreams" copyright 1995 Jocelyn Delmar This is a prequel to "Rain" (i keep using other people's titles!), but it doesnt matter which you read first. Preferably "Rain" first. :) send any comments to nonnie72@aol.com From magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!news-e1a.megaweb.com!n ewstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Thu Aug 10 07:06:00 1995 Article: 2372 of alt.tv.x-files.creative Path: magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!news-e1a.megaweb.com!n ewstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: nonnie72@aol.com (Nonnie 72) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: REPOST: "Rain" 1/1 Date: 9 Aug 1995 16:55:27 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 245 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <40b7bv$cs9@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: nonnie72@aol.com (Nonnie 72) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: RO This short story has no plot, no interesting aliens or twists to it. It is just a simple, clean 'slice of life' dealing with the characters Dana Scully and Fox Mulder from _The X-files_. Tell me what you think. ***note: it is also a REVISION of the original. upon suggestions and comments from fellow cyber-authors, i have changed it. replace your existing version if you have it (posted in mid-June). *author's notes: thanks to chrismasi: for your help, editing and compliments: i didn't just tell, i showed! : ) and everyone else who wrote saying they liked it. thanks to enya for musical influence ("storms in africa II") and an extra-special thanks-of-gratitude to all you other cyber-authors (keep on writing! how else to remedy XFDS?), to Chris Carter for inventing _The X-Files_ and its characters, and to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson for giving me and others a picture in our heads and for portraying such excellent characters. *rating: PG. ***NOT TO BE CONFUSED with "Rain" (NC-17) by Sheryl Martin.*** Send comments, criticisms and flames to: nonnie 72@aol.com (Nonnie 72) All disclaimers apply: The X-Files, and all of the characters that it entails, are registered trademarks of Ten Thirteen Productions, and are used without permission, not meaning to harm, upset or annoy anyone. No copyright infringements were meant, yada yada ya... copyright 1995 Jocelyn Delmar "Rain" 8:05 am. Thunder rumbled outside of the small basement office. Dana Scully glanced up over the rim of her glasses at the windows, annoyed. Dark gray clouds were already rolling overhead, and a rapid, hot wind shook the few trees along the downtown street. The sky looked as if it would open up any minute. She blinked slowly, eyes already tired of looking at the endless paperwork. The door remained shut, and Mulder's chair remained empty. Scully glanced at her watch for what must be the fifteenth time that morning. 8:05. It was unlike Mulder to be so late. She nibbled on her lower lip and set back to work. 9:14 am. The door hit the wall solidly. Scully jumped, startled, at the sound. She tore the glasses off her nose and looked up, pushing back her chair. Mulder stood in the doorway, looking damp, haggard and tired. "Mulder, do you know what time it is? Where the hell have you been?" She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. He didn't deserve such a stinging reproachment. When he didn't answer with a swift comeback, and just stood there blandly, Scully got up. "Mulder?" He visibly shook himself out of his daze, opened his mouth, as if to say something, and shut it quickly. Scully walked over to him, and touched the wet sleeve of the overcoat. "You're soaked. Take that off." She shut the door behind him. She took the briefcase from him and set it on his desk solidly. He slipped out of the coat dumbly, and let it sit in a puddle on the floor. Scully ignored it and stood at a distance, observing. His suit was of normal Mulder-wear, the colors were muted and the shape tailored, but crumpled in odd folds and wrinkles. The tie he wore crookedly around his neck was off center, and for once seemed appropriate for the FBI: understated and in compliance with protocol. His hair was sticking out of his scalp in millions of different directions, looking 'weedwhacked'. A weary expression possessed his face, and brief flashes of pain and what looked like guilt flitted through his hazel eyes and shadowed his face numerous times. Such appearance told of a man who'd been through seven kinds of hell. Scully folded her arms across her chest and leaned back onto the edge of her desk, not knowing whether to be sympathetic or concerned. She decided upon an amalgamate of both the former and the latter. "Mulder, sit down. *Now.*" She pinched the elbow of his suit coat and guided him, not unkindly, to his chair and pushed him into it. He submitted to her actions and allowed himself to limply be directed. Scully slid aside a stack of papers and perched herself on his desk. "Have you been having those dreams again, Mulder?" He hadn't called early in the morning to talk, not about the dream, but just to talk, and to know she was there, like he usually did. Mulder looked up at her sharply, for the first time. He began to speak, but all that came out was air, and he paused to clear his throat and began over. "--not dreams," he wheezed. Scully frowned. "I don't wanna talk about it." She raised an eyebrow and said nothing. A distant look developed in his eyes. He continued to stare at nothing, still silent. When Scully realized that he wasn't intending on saying anything to her about his experience, she backed off slowly and sat behind her desk again, letting him brood in secrecy. 3:12 pm. A whiffling noise sighed across the room. Scully looked up at Mulder. His lips were tightly pressed together, bloodless and thin. He hadn't moved in hours. Scully slowly peeled off her glasses and set down the papers she was working on. Ignored, wet tears gradually traced a clean path down his ashen cheek. 5:40 pm. After a particularly uneventful day, Scully collected her things, preparing to go home. There was still piles of paperwork on her desk, but not even close to the amount of work Mulder had ignored today. He had spent the rest of the day in silence, staring at the wall. More than once when Scully looked up at him, his eyes were wet, and lips pressed together. He looked like he was in physical pain. She hadn't said anything, just gone about old papers and tying up completed cases. Mulder had done nothing, sitting in his chair, ignoring the silent tears when they came. She hadn't asked, he hadn't offered. It was usually that way. Scully walked over to his desk and rested her hand on his cold, clammy one. He didn't move. "Mulder, do you need a ride?" she asked gently. He started in his seat, and looked up at her. He bit his lip and shrugged. "Well, then, come on. I'm leaving." She handed him his coat, and he followed her out into the cold, heavy rain quietly. 6:03 pm. She pulled up in front of his apartment and parked the car. Mulder stared out the window. She didn't mind the silent treatment, she knew that he was hardly even aware that she was there at all. "We're here, Mulder." He took a deep breath and held it. When his face began to blush, Scully tapped his arm. He let it out in a whoosh of air. The windshield wipers scraped across the window noisily, and a momentary fog developed from Mulder's breath. He reached for the door handle clumsily and let himself out. He walked languidly to the door, the pouring rain matting his hair. Scully watched him go, and sat in front of the building for another five minutes, listening to the pounding of rain before she started the car and drove away. 11:09 pm. Silky green leaves shook under the cold, heavy droplets. Gray clouds loomed murkily over the flashing lights of the night time city. Somewhere in the darkness of an empty apartment, the demanding ring of the phone echoed shrilly through the dark. Scully sighed, and set the phone in the receiver. She gazed absently out the window. Where the hell was he? It was so unlike him to not be home this late at night, and Scully knew him too well to call dirty bars and to search in dank side alleys. She had a feeling that something was wrong: it certainly had been at the office earlier that day. She glanced at the glowing green numbers of the clock again: 11:09. Where was he? * * * Her key rattled in the lock, and the heavy wooden door swung open before her. The apartment was bathed in darkness; and the full moon, when revealed created creeping white shadows across the wooden floor. Scully slipped out of her wet trench coat and hung it on the coat tree in the corner. Upon first glance, his apartment seemed normal: typically messy and dark. Further investigation provided strange clues; books in disarray, the artsy pots and bottles on his bookshelf lay broken. The ivy she'd given him, saying even he couldn't kill it, was tipped over, soil spilling onto the glass shelf and over onto the floor. Her shoes creaked on the floor as she walked across to the desk. Papers, keys, pencil, pen, watch; she mentally checked off normal desk items. In the dim, cold moonlight she stood above his desk, thinking. The presence of the keys meant he must be here, his car was at the FBI parking lot, Scully having dropped him off after work. The watch was broken, the face had been smashed to bits. He must have been doing something very strenuously, the crystal on watches don't break very easily. Scully's own had been worn through a cruise-gone-wrong, volcanoes and countless car crashes, and still it ticked away, ever faithful. She walked across the rug to his bookcase and stopped suddenly. The rug squished beneath her shoes. She bent down to examine the wetness. It was in the more-or-less shape of a large, wet footprint. Upon further exploration, she discovered that his coat, wet and crumpled into a ball, was hidden in a corner behind the couch. Curiously, she headed into his bedroom. Everything was normal there. The bed was neatly made with a soft, grayed navy blue comforter folded at the end. She ran her fingers along the edge, thinking. The closet door was wide open, and the gray suits hung a silent witness alone in the back. There was another door open, only slightly, and Scully went to this one. She pushed it open and peered in. Moonlight glinted off the cold white tiles that lined the floor. Scully stepped inside, her heels making a click on the floor. She flipped on the light, nearly blinding herself. A strong hand came out of the darkness and pulled her to the floor. Mulder's wide hazel eyes glowed in the faint, twisted light. She scrambled on the wet floor, trying to balance herself. "Turn it off." he whispered hoarsely. "Turn off the light!" He ordered a strange look in his eyes. Scully, alarmed, reached up to flip off the light. "They were here, Scully." His staring eyes held her gaze captive, making her secretly squirm uncomfortably. "They came for me. I saw Sam, Scully. She called out to me, wanted me to come. But I didn't." He grinned at her strangely. "I was too strong for them. I resisted. But Samantha...." he looked up at her, suddenly looking lonely, sad and afraid. "She stayed." Mulder gazed into space, once again silent and untouchable. Scully gaped at him. "Mulder, you're sick." She touched his slack jaw tenderly. "C'mon, you're burning up. You have to lie down." She slid her arm around his stomach and lifted him off the floor carefully, trying hard not to slip in the water puddles. He limply allowed himself a few steps to the door, then slumped into her arms. Scully almost buckled beneath his warm, damp body as he wrapped shaking arms around her. He buried his face in her cherry-red hair, snuffling. Coughs shook his lean frame, and he pressed Scully to him, his precious human life preserver in the confusion of reality blending with his hallucinations. She inhaled quickly, startled at this somewhat loving reception. Her maternal instinct kicked in, and out of worry, love and compassion for her partner she held him back, hoping to still the shaking. Mulder breathed in her wonderful, natural scent, and clung to her, wanting to live forever frozen in this position. He squeezed his eyes shut and held on for dear life. Scully rubbed her hand along his damp back, wanting so much to stay this way, forever and always; to be there ready when Mulder opened the door for her. Thousands of wet pounding feet roared in their ears, and thunder rolled above. The heavens opened up and the rain poured down in torrents. It created dancing, flashing light that glimpsed off the hair of a young couple standing alone in the darkness of an apartment, wrapped in a tight, protective embrace, oblivious to the busy, silent night world around them. my revision of "dreams" is the next thing on the agenda. if you want the original of "rain" (heaven knows why), just drop me a line. ~Jocelyn Delmar