Title:  Dreams of Dreamland, II (Sequel to Dreams of Dreamland)

Author: Fox's Gal

Email: foxs_gal@hotmail.com

Rating: Um, R for language.

Category: V (some H)

Spoilers: As if it wasn't obvious: DREAMLAND I and II!!!

Summary: Well, Dark Angel asked, and I quote: All right. "So far, so
good. So... does she talk to him?"  She does now.  This is Mulder's
POV.

Archive:  Ask first?

Disclaimer: If I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be filling out student
loan paperwork every year.

Note: There'll probably be a "Dreams of Dreamland, III." I just need
to think on it further. 


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dreams of Dreamland, II: Mulder
By Fox's Gal

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


I really can be a bastard, you know that?

I mean, I don't ever intend to be one.  It just sort of...happens.  I
don't mean to seem insensitive or uninterested.  It's just that
sometimes...well, frankly, sometimes that woman scares me.

Yeah, you know which one.

Okay, she had been acting pretty strange lately.  She'd be staring at
me when she thought I wasn't looking.  And when I say staring, I mean
*staring.*  It was like...like she was trying to see through me.  Like
she thought I was hiding something and somehow, by scrutinizing me,
she could see all my secrets.

It's not that I care about whether she knows my secrets. I just want
her to quit staring at me like that.  

So, anyway, she's been going to meetings for awhile now.  She didn't
tell me, and I didn't ask her what they were about.  None of my
business, right?  Right.  At least I thought so.  

Well, it turns out that Scully's been meeting with our own Dr.
Kosseff.

So, she told me that and I shrugged.  Hell, I've been in to see her a
few times.  Not many, I'll admit...but once or twice.  So, Scully went
in and has been having sessions with Dr. Kosseff.

Part of me was hurt that she didn't come to me sooner.  She should
know by now that she can tell me anything.  And when she told me she
was having recurring dreams, I totally sympathized with her.  I'm the
king of recurring dreams.  

Dreams, nightmares... Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to.

Well, then she drops the bomb on me.  Those recurring dreams were
about me.

I had never in my entire life been so entirely excited and completely
frightened in my entire life.  I think she could tell by the look on
my face that my flabber was gasted, because she turned this amazing
shade of pink and assured me that they weren't "those" kinds of
dreams.  I laughed nervously, only part of my brain wondering, "Why
the hell not?"  So, she tells me about these dreams.

They seemed pretty normal.  Well, normal for dreams.  Sure, they're
the Id trying to break into the consciousness, but they're nothing to
be taken literally.  I once had a dream that I was standing trial for
something...I don't remember what exactly.  Just that the judge and
jury were composed entirely of former girlfriends.

Oh, and I was naked.

But we're not talking about me now.  We're talking about Scully.  So,
she sits down at her desk and does this really cute nervous fidgety
thing with her pencil.  Then she takes a deep breath and tells me all
about this dream.

Suddenly, I wish that she had come to me about some twisted dream
where the Snuffalupagus from Sesame Street was following her around
telling her not to step on the grass.  That's the sort of thing I was
prepared for.  Either that or some equally as fucked up nightmares
courtesy of yours truly.  Y'know, abduction nightmares, vampire
nightmares, Emily nightmares, cannibalistic chicken farmer
nightmares...the typical occupational hazard sort of thing.  Well,
typical for *us.*

The last thing I had ever imagined was that she was dreaming the same
damn thing as I had been for the past month.

So, I'm sitting there, nodding at her, encouraging her to continue
when all the while I'm like, "Holy shit."  I don't say that, of
course.  Even I have some semblance of tact.

We've been having nearly identical dreams.  Nearly.  From different
points of view, of course...but eerily similar.  I mean, I have seen
her in front of me babbling about being off by milliseconds and I want
to ask her what the hell she's talking about.  But I never ASK her. 
It's like I have a script recorded in my mind and I never know exactly
what to say until I've already said it.

And, you know, it never seems that weird to me until Scully walks up
to me and gets on her tiptoes and asks me if I'm "in there."  My first
reaction is to say, "No Scully, actually I'm quite 'out there.'"  But
it never comes out.  

But the really, really weird thing is when I see...myself.  Well, not
me, really.  I can only gauge that he's my evil twin or something.  I
don't know.  Well, I do know.  I'm not myself and this schmoe has my
body.  Clear, huh?  Yeah, I thought so.

Back to Scully though.  She finished telling me about those recurring
dreams and I flounder helplessly, without any idea whatsoever. 
Savoir-faire? What savoir-faire?  I manage to say the only thing that
comes to my mind at the time.  This small phrase has saved my ass more
times than I care to count.

"So, what's your theory?"

Unfortunately, it's the wrong thing to say this time.

"I don't have a goddamn theory! I just want the fucking dreams to
stop!"

She's got something fisted up in her hand.  I see a tiny flash of
bronze and, somehow, I know what it is.  Just like on one level,
finding my bedroom...assembled leaves me with a feeling not so much of
confusion, but rather, of violation.  

Yeah, I know.  A maid service breaks and enters, makes my humble abode
livable once again, gives me a *bed* and I feel violated.  It makes as
much sense to me as it does to you. 

Well, now she's pissed at me.  I don't know why, but I know well
enough that I probably deserve it.  So, I get up and walk over to her.
 Time to lay all the cards out on the table.  I'm not sure if this is
gonna make her feel better or make her want to throttle me.

"Scully...I know what you're going through."

She starts to send me a look, then remembers the night terrors.  She
says nothing. 

I try again...aspiring to be just a bit more eloquent this time.

"Scully?" She looks up at me.  "I've been having...the same dreams."

Nothing.  No eyebrow.  No smirk.  Nada.  Then, she finds her voice.

"The same..."

"Dreams, yeah.  Same."

"So, like...exactly the same?  Or--"

"No, the same...but from a different point of view.  You're standing
in front of me and you're saying all these things that--"

"Make no sense!  But...Mulder, that's impossible."

"I don't know, Scully. Maybe we have a psychic link?"

That earns me an eyebrow lift.  She closes her eyes and rubs her
forehead.  "Mulder..."

I laugh and go back to my desk.  "I was only kidding, Scully."

Sure I was.  

Only problem is that I have no IDEA how to explain this.  A psychic
link seems as good an explanation as any.  I just feel bad for Scully.
 I mean, of all of the people on the face of this green earth, she had
to be connected to me?  Tell me *you* don't feel bad for her.

So, I'm sittin' there, pretending to be examining receipts for expense
reports.  I'm sitting here and I'm thinking.  I mean, I'm thinking so
hard, I swear to you, steam has got to be coming out of my ears.  My
own personal X-File that Kersh can't fuck me over for.  We go to New
Mexico and come back and...

Oh, wait a damned minute.

"Scully?"

"Mmm?" She looks over her glasses at me.  I try really hard to look
nonchalant.

"When did these dreams start?"

She thinks for a second.  "Ever since we came back from our little,"
she pauses, "field..." (God, you gotta love dawning comprehension,)
"...trip."  She swallows.  "You?"

"Ditto."

She nods.  She actually looks like she accepts this.  Of course, this
is TAME compared to some of the stuff we've seen. 

"So...what do we do?"

What, indeed?  I have no earthly idea.

Well, I have one. 

"Go back?"