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  This author's e-mail address has changed to: xanaduxf@yahoo.com
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From: "Shannon" <shannono@mindspring.com>
Date: Wed, 3 Nov 1999 19:51:43 -0500
Subject: NEW Lessons Learned: Illusions (1/1)
Source: xff


Lessons Learned: Illusions
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Series, Angst, MSR

Rated PG-13

Spoilers for "Field Trip"

Summary: "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."
-- Edgar Allan Poe

Author's note: Part 10 of a series; previous parts are at:
http://shannono.simplenet.com/leftfield/lessons.html

Thanks: To Brandon, Lisa, and Lena, for fast and friendly beta
services. :)

Disclaimer: If they were mine, we wouldn't still be waiting for 
them to kiss. Sheesh.

===========

Illusions
by shannono


Reality is illusion. 

Illusion is reality.

And how will I ever know the difference again?

He died. He was dead. I saw his bones, stripped clean of flesh. 
I ran the tests myself. He was gone. Forever.

My heart didn't break.

It disintegrated.

I felt the hole inside my chest as I floated through the next 
few days: the meeting with Skinner, the unnatural wake in 
Mulder's dark home. Surreal does not begin to describe the 
experience.

And then came the knock ... and there he was.

Alive.

Whole.

With my heart in his eyes.

It surged back into my chest, leaving me dizzy with the 
sensation. It was familiar, somehow, this feeling of having my 
heart back after it was lost to me.

Maybe because I've been there before.

He walked in as if nothing had happened ... and then I realized 
that nothing had. He wasn't dead. His bones had never been found.

We had never gotten off that mountain in the first place.

He glistened yellow and melted away, and for an instant I knew 
where we were. We tried to escape; we believed we had.

We were wrong. Illusion again.

Finally, finally, we were rescued, pulled whole and alive from 
the bowels of an organism that could so easily have eaten us 
alive. Woozy from the drugs and the imaginings born of them, I 
reached out for the only solid thing in my life.

His hand met mine halfway.

==========

It's been less than an hour since we were pulled from the ground, 
and already I feel much more like myself. We were taken only a mile 
or so away, to where a decontamination tent had been set up, and 
spent the next half hour or so being cleaned of dirt and 
digestive enzymes. I was flooded with memories of another, false 
"decontamination" not so long ago, and was thankful that this 
time we are in separate chambers, not sharing a shower. That last
time was embarrassing enough, but much has changed between us 
since then, and I would much prefer that we be alone the next 
time we are naked together.

Thankfully, I was exposed to the enzymes long enough for much 
damage, other than a few raw spots on my face and hands. The 
enzymes had not even started to eat through our clothes yet, as 
it turns out, so I feel hopeful that even Mulder's longer exposure
will not leave him with injuries more serious than my own.

Samples of both the dirt and the fluids are taken away to be 
analyzed automatically, before I can even gather my thoughts 
enough to order it done. Skinner is here, I remember; he knows 
what this thing is and that something must be done to protect 
others from it.

Ointment is spread on the injured patches of skin, and then I am 
given a clean pair of scrubs and plastic clogs to slip on and 
sent out into the antechamber for something to eat and drink. I 
push aside the thick plastic sheeting and flinch despite myself 
as the fans click on from above, throwing strands of wet hair 
into my eyes. I brush them back, a little impatiently, looking 
around for Mulder, but he's not here.

Just then, Skinner steps into the tent from outside. He's turned 
to one side, away from me, and he blinks a few times as his eyes 
adjust to the dimmer light.

The moment it seems his  gaze has cleared and focused, I 
speak. "Sir, how is Agent Mulder?"

His head snaps around toward me, and he takes a few steps in my 
direction. "Agent Scully, are you all right?" he asks as he moves.

I wave off his concern. "I'm fine, sir," I say as he stops in 
front of me. "But Mulder was in that ... thing ... longer than I 
was." I pause, then say, slowly, "Considering what I just went 
through, I don't think it would be a good a idea for me to check 
on him right now."

Skinner almost smiles, I think. "I'll look in, Agent Scully," he 
says. He reaches out a hand as if to take my elbow, and I try not 
to flinch, but he apparently sees it on my face and pulls back. 
It's not him, I want to tell him, but I can't. It's all still too 
raw.

He sighs softly. "You get something to eat and drink, and I'll
check on Mulder," he says, turning away before I can even nod.

I take the few steps to the small table and chairs at the side of 
the plastic-walled chamber and sit down, eyeing the covered 
plastic containers and the several plastic bottles of juice 
sitting before me. I am suddenly thankful that the scrubs I'm 
wearing, at least, are cloth; I feel as if I'm living in a plastic 
world.

I lift the corner of one container and peek inside to see a "meal"
of a plastic-wrapped sandwich, a bag of chips, and a package of 
dried apples. Yum.

I pull the lid off completely and start opening and unwrapping,
taking a small bite of the ham sandwich first. It's actually not
bad, for institutional food, even if the bread is a little dry. 
I grab a bottle of orange juice and open it as well, alternating
between eating and drinking until I've finished everything in
both containers. I take a bottle of water then and sit back in 
my chair as I sip at it.

I glance at my wrist involuntarily, before I remember that my
watch has become yet another casualty to my job. I look around
for a clock, but there isn't one. Not even a plastic one.

What the hell is taking Skinner so long?

As if my thought has summoned him, he emerges from behind the
plastic to my right, his gaze immediately zeroing in on me. I
open my mouth to ask about Mulder, but before I can say a word,
Skinner steps aside to allow Mulder through.

He is dressed in white scrubs like mine, the pants legs about an
inch too short for him, and his hair is damp as well. Again I 
feel a sense of deja vu about this whole thing, but it vanishes 
as I take in the bright red patches of skin on his face and neck.

"Mulder," I say. Jumping up, I'm at his side in just a few steps.
"Are you okay?" I reach automatically to inspect his injuries, 
and he starts to grin, then winces as the movement pulls at the 
raw spots on his face. 

"I'm okay, if slightly digested," he says, in his normal, wry 
tones, and I feel a flood of relief. My hands slip down from his
face to brush along his arms, and then I remember that Skinner is
standing right next to us, and I take a careful half-step back.

"Come eat something, Mulder," I say, gesturing toward the table 
as I start in that direction. "It's not exactly gourmet, but it's
no worse than what you normally eat," I add teasingly, getting 
another aborted grin for my efforts.

Mulder sits down slowly, and I watch him like a hawk, wondering 
how far the acid burns reach on him and whether he'll be willing 
to tell me. He pulls one of the remaining plastic containers 
toward him and fumbles a bit with the lid, and I realize that the
backs of his hands are a brilliant red and almost completely 
covered with ointment.

"Here, Mulder, let me," I say gently, reaching for the container. 
He lets me take it without protesting, a silent sign that he 
really is in pain, so I not only pop the lid but also unwrap the 
sandwich and pull the bags of chips and dried fruit open for him.

Then I reach for the hand nearest me, careful to keep the gesture
as clinical as possible, mainly for Skinner's benefit, since he's
still standing nearby. I study the raw patches, gauging the 
damage and recovery time, and finally nod, satisfied. He'll be 
sore for a while, but he'll be fine.

"You should be wearing gloves to protect the skin, Mulder," I 
say, placing his hand back on the table and resisting the urge to
lay my hand over it.

"White gloves and pearls aren't exactly my style, Scully," he 
says, eyes twinkling as he picks up his sandwich and takes a huge
bite.

Skinner clears his throat behind me, and I twist in my seat to 
look up at him. "Sir?"

"Agents," he says. "You have tomorrow off; please spend it
recuperating. Be in my office at 9 a.m. on Tuesday morning to 
give your final report."

I nod once. "Yes, sir," I say, hearing Mulder swallow behind me 
and echo my words.

Skinner gives us both one last, long look, then spins on his heel
and exits the tent without another word. I turn, slowly, back to 
face Mulder, and our gazes lock.

"I wish I could hold your hand right now, Scully," Mulder 
whispers, his voice so tender and his eyes so soft that I feel 
my cheeks flush and my heart speed up. 

My gaze falls away involuntarily, and I can't make myself look 
back up at him. His eyes are so expressive, so intense, 
broadcasting his every emotion, and it's so very hard to hold his
gaze when he's focused on me. It's terrifying, to tell the truth.
I can see the power within him when I look in his eyes, and it's 
going to take me a while to get used to seeing all that energy 
turned in my direction.

Especially in this situation. A half hour or so ago, we were
naked in adjoining rooms, and now we're sitting across a tiny
table wearing nothing but thin cotton scrubs. No, they don't 
supply underwear with emergency clothing, thank you very much, 
and we both know it. Without my normal clothes as armor, I feel 
as if I'm still naked.

Mulder knows what's bothering me, I'm sure. He's gone back to his
mini-meal, leaving me to my thoughts, and I let my eyes drift
shut as I listen to him chew, sip, swallow. There's something
comforting about the sound, something about the familiarity of 
it, gleaned from hundreds of meals eaten together on the road 
over the years. The background is all wrong, of course, much too
clean and quiet, the only noise from the humming of the fans and
the muted voices of technicians finishing their jobs. And it 
certainly doesn't measure up to our last meal together, a feast 
of ribs and country music ... but then, I don't imagine much 
could.

But the rest of it, sitting together while we eat -- well, while
*he* eats -- it's reassuring to my battered mind and spirit. It's
simple, and it's familiar to the point of mundanity, but it's 
real. It *feels* real, not like the hallucinations that never 
quite seemed right.

And I thank God that they were only illusions.

"Scully?" Mulder's gentle voice pulls me from my reverie, and I 
open my eyes to look at him. He's pushed aside his plate and 
empty juice bottle, and already he looks better, despite the raw
patches on his skin.

I smile at him. "I'm fine, Mulder," I say, longing to reach out 
for his hand but not wanting to hurt him. Instead, impulsively, I 
slip a foot out of the clunky plastic clogs and reach across
under the table, brushing my toes against his ankle.

His full-body jerk draws a half-laugh from my throat, and his
eyes widen comically. His mouth opens and closes a few times,
and then a wicked, if small, smile builds across his face.

"Why, Agent Scully," he says, his voice a low rumble of humor
and pleasure. "Are you playing footsie with me?"

I answer silently, placing my elbow on the table and resting my 
chin in the palm of my hand as I extend my other bare foot to 
touch him. I give him a slow, lazy smile, and I watch with 
interest as his chest hitches with his breath.

"Scully," he lets out on a sigh, and I feel his feet move as he 
pulls them free of his own clogs. Our toes meet, touch, brush, 
and we let our feet slide against each other, caressing in a 
most unusual but highly erotic manner.

My breath speeds up, my skin flushes, and I am amazed at the 
sensations from just this. I am incredibly aroused already, and 
only our feet are physically touching.

But his gaze feels like another touch, burning into mine. I'm
surrounded by him, encased totally in his bottomless well of 
emotion and passion. I feel his hands on me as if they're really
there, smoothing over every inch of my skin, bringing to the 
surface everything I've kept hidden away, from him and from me.

My eyes fall shut again, and my head drops back, suddenly too
heavy for my neck to support. His long toes venture up under
the bottom hem of my scrub pants, and the sensation shoots all 
the way up my leg and takes up residence between my thighs.

I gasp aloud, my eyes flying open to meet his gaze, as shocked
as mine must be. Oh God, he's just as aroused as I am, and this
is not the time or the place for it. 

But our feet keep moving. What are we doing? I think wildly. Why
aren't we stopping? Why aren't we pulling away?

And then Mulder does. His feet lift away from my skin, and I feel
a physical jolt as his entire manner shifts. 

And then the pain hits me. I gasp again, from shock this time, 
and I hear our harsh breathing for the first time. My heart is 
pounding and jumping in my chest, and I'm shaking all over.

What the hell was *that*?

"Wha ..." I try to voice the question, but my body won't let me.
I cough and gasp again, trying desperately to get my breathing 
back under control.

Peripherally, I'm aware that Mulder is having the same difficulty,
covering his face with both hands as he fights for control. I don't
know what just happened here, but whatever it was, I don't think I
ever want to go through it again.

Finally, I feel in control enough to look directly at him. He's 
still breathing too fast, but his eyes are clearer, and we simply
look at each for a few long moments.

I open my mouth, but before I can ask the question, Mulder's
speaking.

"It was the hallucinogen, Scully," he says. "It's not out of our
systems yet. We're out; we're free. This is real, not another 
illusion. But ..." His voice trails off, and he tries again. "But
what just happened was because of the hallucinogen." He pauses, 
then stumbles a little as he goes on. "I mean, the ... intensity.
The pain when I pulled away. Not *what* happened, but *how* it 
happened."

I nod, slowly, and process what he's said. It felt so good,
caressing each other with just our feet; so intense. But then I 
couldn't stop, and when he finally managed to pull back, it hurt.
It hurt a lot.

"So ..." I start, "so maybe we should ... let this wear off 
before ...?"

I let the question die, but he knows what I'm trying to ask. "We 
should probably go home and take our day off to recover, like 
Skinner said," he confirms in a gentle voice. Then he leans 
toward me, his tone lowering to an intimate whisper. "Because 
when *this* finally happens, I don't want either of us 
questioning its reality."

There's no question what he means by "this," and my breath 
catches as our gazes meet. His eyes are more controlled this 
time, letting me see only a glimpse of what he feels, and this 
time I can take it.

"You're right, Mulder," I answer, my voice sounding much calmer.
"As good as that felt, it wasn't completely real." I take a 
deep, cleansing breath. "And I've had enough illusion today to 
last me a long, long time."

He gives a half-grin. "Wait 'til you hear about *my* 
hallucination, Scully," he says. "You're gonna love it."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, did you drop into the middle of a
party at the Playboy mansion?"

He chuckles and pushes away from the table, rising slowly to his
feet. "Not even close," he says. "Although you could say it's 
something that used to be pretty high on my list of fantasies."

I stand up as well, slipping my feet back into the uncomfortable 
clogs. "Mulder, if it's anything from *your* fantasy list, I'm 
not sure if I want to know," I say teasingly, looking up at him 
with a small smile.

He chuckles, then bends down to murmur into my ear, "Even if
you're directly involved?"

I pull back and give him a reproachful look. "Mulder ..." I start,
but he cuts me off with a falsely shocked look.

"Good grief, Agent Scully," he says in mock disgust. "You've got
*such* a dirty mind. I never said it was a *sexual* fantasy."

I shake my head as I turn toward the door. "Too bad," I shoot
back over my shoulder. "I might have been willing to trade."

Dead silence follows in my wake, and then I hear his voice
again as he hurries to catch up. "Well, I might have something
to barter with ..."

And as I step outside, I lift my face toward the bright sunlight.
It feels wonderful.

It feels real.

==========END==========

"Shut up, Mulder, I'm playing baseball."
          -- Scully, "The Unnatural"

==========

BFM is sweeping the nation ...
http://homepages.infoseek.com/~bfmarchive

==========

My spiffy new home: http://shannono.simplenet.com/