From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Mon, 21 Apr 2008 03:00:16 -0500 (CDT) Subject: Life Is But a Dream by Xaos Source: direct Reply To: spook1121@gmail.com Life Is But a Dream by Xaos Rating - PG-13 Spoilers - set in season 6 Summary - A wait. A waterbed. An agent adrift. Disclaimer - FOX refuses to acknowledge any association with the party responsible for this story. Any similarity to persons living or undead is entirely coincidental. This little piece of insanity is brought to you by the letter X. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Two swift knocks, knuckles meeting wood. The "42" reverberates, loose again. The knock is but a perfunctory courtesy. Her key slides into the lock before he would have time to answer. She already noted the dark apartment from the street below. "My place. Nine o'clock sharp," he'd said. "Don't be late." As if she ever was, outside of his company. "Hello?" she asks into the darkness, expecting no reply. The only sign of life to greet her is the flutter of fishtails. Tenacious mollies falsely hopeful of a feast. She is drawn to the greenish glow of their watery universe, bypassing the light switch. The room remains submerged in shadows. Taking pity on the starving creatures, she scatters some flakes into the tank and watches while greedy mouths latch onto the fragments. Her good deed done for the day. She turns, sighs, and ponders the enigma of her partner. His whereabouts, at least. Him, she will never figure out. No note on the desk. No indication why she was summoned. Her day has been spent scrubbing tiles and paying bills, the luxury of a weekend at home. Her energy has been taxed. She has no patience for his games. Withdrawing her cell phone, she hits speed dial. A ring echoes from the other room. Frustrated, she jams the off button and pursues the sound. The door is ajar to this unexplored territory. The Bedroom. Rumored to exist, but seldom seen by human eyes, at least in this decade. Gingerly, she opens the door. Moonbeams filter through slatted blinds, and she feels less intrusive without glaring lights to announce her. A large canopied bed dominates the space, a hulking shadow in the gloom. Mass drawing mass, it beckons her. The bedclothes are unkempt, but no files or magazines mar the expanse. The white sheets seem to emit a light of their own, mesmerizing in the moonlight. Her knees reach the edge, and on impulse, she turns and sits. An unexpected ripple steals her balance and knocks her backward. Ah yes, the mysterious waterbed. An X-File unto itself. As is the image staring back at her. A mirrored ceiling, Mulder? Is this the reason she's never seen his bedroom? A familiar feeling washes over her, and she closes her eyes, trying to capture it. Her mind's eye replays her image dancing above, her partner beside her. Bubbles of laughter and champagne. A snatch of a dream? Surely not. But the scene is fleeting, and the mirage quickly fades. The waves ripple beneath her, a soothing reminder of days from her youth. All-day fishing trips for Ahab and Starbuck, treasured highlights of parceled time otherwise spent ashore. The boat shifts beneath her. Rocking, swaying. The swells are gentle, and her heartbeat matches their rhythm. She is adrift. "Row, row, row your boat," they sing, more cacophony than harmony, on the drive to the dock. Dana and the boys. Missy had an appointment with a tea party, attended by Brer Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh, and Raggedy Ann. Eeyore was too grumpy to attend. "Gently down the stream." A rope snaps, and she turns in the boat. Alone on a lake now. Placid, yet the current pulls her away. The shore moves farther in the distance, a nurse standing motionless on the pier. "I had the strength of your beliefs." A whisper on the breeze. She swings around, searching, and abruptly faces a tall mast rising above her. "Arrrrgh. There you are, my dainty little wench." Across the deck he stands, hardly recognizable. A patch covers one eye, and a sweeping hat nearly obscures the other. He stomps toward her, his gait off- kilter from his wooden stump. "Mulder?" she asks, incredulous. "That's Captain Muldaarrrgh to you, matey." She would respond, but a flash of fur scampers between them. From the rear, she recognizes the Pomeranian. "Queequeg! Come back here." He disappears into the woods, and she has no choice but to follow. She emerges in a clearing, eerily lit. The mutt is nowhere to be found. Big Blue sits atop a large mushroom, puffing away at his pipe. "Whooo arrrrrre yoooooou?" he blows to her in smoke rings. "Have you seen a dog running past here? He's about yea high. Red fur. Obnoxious, but adorable." "Whoooo..." "Oh, never mind." She rarely gets straight answers, anyway. But she knows who has them, and where she has to go. "Follow the yellow brick road." Frohike the Leprechaun points her way, and a path is illumined in the forest. But the journey is long, and she is weary. Her limbs grow heavy as she wades through the field of poppies, knee-deep beyond her like virgin snow. Their scent is familiar, and she rolls into their softness, burying her face in their perfume. They smell of...Mulder. The sea of flowers blankets her in their smooth petals. No longer is there any place she needs to be. She will stay here, rest, until the answers come to her. "'Someone's been sleeping in my bed,' said Papa Bear. 'And it's just right.'" A breeze, a breath tickling her face. Not a breath, a voice. Just shy of a whisper. A private tone, not meant to be heard by slumbering ears. She is rising to the surface now, but her eyes remain closed. She floats between lucidity and insanity. "If you've mistaken me for Goldilocks, you really are colorblind." Her voice is rusty with sleep. A quiet pause, broken by a touch at her temple. A strand of hair swept aside. "Little Red Riding Hood?" His voice is molasses, intimate and sweet. Yet dangerous, at least to her heart. She cracks open an eye. "Does that make you the Big Bad Wolf?" There he stands over her, not a wolf but a Fox. His teeth glint in the moonlight, a predatory grin. "All the better to eat you, my dear." She opens both eyes and blinks. He sniggers. Her brain is too sluggish to form a snappy reply. By the time all synapses are firing, he has moved away. He won this round. She silently challenges him to best two out of three. As soon as the waves carry her to shore. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx