From: Kimogen Date: 6 Sep 2004 12:46:59 -0700 Subject: New: Nightmares and Dreamscapes (1/1) Source: atxc New Title: Nightmares and Dreamscapes (1/1) Author: Kimogen Summary: Mulder does not know where he is going, nor the name of the road he is on, but something tells him to keep following the ribbon of blacktop Rating: PG for a teeny bit of gore and language. Spoilers: None Distribution: Anywhere - but please let me know so that I can visit. Disclaimer: Not mine This was written for the Best Foot Forward Challenge at Mulder's Refuge (Sept 2004). Scully Residence Georgetown 04:07 a.m. "Scully..." "Mulder? Its four a.m. What's wrong?" "Scully..." "Oh God, Mulder, what happened? Are you okay?" "Mmm...oh no...Scully...Not Scully..." "Mulder, listen to me. Are you hurt?" "Oh...God...Scully!" "Mulder, stay where you are, I'm coming to get you." "Oh No...they're everywhere..." The dial tone is a siren against her ear. Scully is out of bed and pulling her jeans from the laundry basket before she has even let go of the phone. Caller I.D still flashes with the vital information 'M. Home'. The cell phone is charging on the nightstand and as she heads for the lounge, she yanks the cord. "Fuck." Sweaty fingers slow her down as she struggles with the adapter, eventually grabbing the plug from the wall and wrapping the whole thing around her hand as she runs. Her coat is where she left it over the back of the couch and her court shoes are conveniently by the door. She almost slips as she opens the door, grabbing her keys at the same time, but she catches herself on the doorframe and bolts out and along the corridor. Scully skids to a halt at the elevator. Smacking the button does not speed up its arrival and ten seconds is too long to wait, so she heads for the stairs as the doors ping open and she wastes a valuable second debating what to do. She crashes through the fire-door to the stairwell and stumbles down, juggling key and phone, with her jacket over her arm. Her heart is furiously thudding by the time she bursts into the underground car-park. Heels crash on the concrete, echoing her running steps and gasping breaths. The tell-tale blips from the alarm remind her where she parked and Scully has the door open and engine started before she is properly seated. The arm of her coat is looped over the gear stick so she cannot yank it into reverse, so Scully swears and battles with it before managing to throw it across the car. Wheels screech as the coat falls in a litter of change from the pockets. She swears once again and pivots in her seat to see as the car rockets from its space and backwards up the ramp. It is certainly more luck than judgement that causes Scully to hit the brakes at the top of the ramp. Her trunk juts into the road and a taxi narrowly avoids hitting her. The horn blares and red brake-lights flash up as the taxi stops. A man leaps from the driver's seat and Scully has to swerve to avoid taking off the door. She does not hear what the furious driver has to say, but she sees his open mouth as she flashes past. Her blood is rushing fast enough to colour her face. Scully cannot even begin to wonder what has happened to Mulder, but images of previous casualties and crimes rush upon her as she pulls up to a stop light. She sets her jaw and tries to calm her breathing, but the memories play on in gruesome Polaroids: Mulder unconscious in a tub of ice, Mulder in her arms as he bleeds from a gunshot wound... They play on until she sees his broken body in a field, scarred and punctured and she is too late. "Not again, Mulder. Please not again." 42 Hegal Place Alexandria V.A. 04:37 a.m. Her car seemed to drive itself across town, for when she slips into a parking space, she cannot recall the journey from Georgetown to Alexandria. It is not the first time that she will receive parking tickets from journeys she has raced through in a daze. Only by matching the dates of the violation to Mulder's various accidents can she explain the tickets. Scully leaves her coat in the car despite the icy night, as adrenaline kicks in once again, heating her body and fuelling the dash to the elevator. She presses the button before thinking better of it and heading for the stairs. Four floors leave her panting. By the time she approaches apartment 42, the key has mysteriously already found its way into her hand. She knocks as she is unlocking the door, calling out so as not to startle him. "Mulder, its me. I'm coming in." Mulder has been known to be less than predictable with his weapon when caught by surprise. "Mulder?" The room is dark and has apparently been ransacked. The mess no longer shocks Scully. She pauses with the door open, light spilling in. She is suddenly, inexplicably calm. The world slows to a crawl, the beating of her heart barely fast enough to move her blood. One hand inches up towards her hip, ready to grab her gun in case he is not alone. Shit. It isn't there. The control slips and panic sends her hurting forwards. "Mulder!" The door slams behind her. The couch is bare, the T.V. is off. Scully darts in the kitchen but it is empty. She knocks a stack of plates and dishes onto the floor with a terrific crash as she swings around and back into the lounge. The sound sends her stomach leaping up with her heart into her throat and dread settles between her lungs. "Mulder!" She is back in the corridor in an instant, just as the bathroom door slams open and a figure fills the doorway. In the dark Scully cannot tell for certain that it is him and she reaches once more for a gun that is not there. "Who's there?" The figure holds a gun at arms length and Scully feels bereft without her own. Then her brain finally supplies that the groggy voice belongs to Mulder and her breath rushes out in relief. "Mulder, it's me. It's Scully." "Scully?" "Yes, Mulder. Its me." "Scully?" His voice is frightened and lost. In the light bleeding through the slatted bathroom blind, Scully can see that he is wearing his shirt from earlier that day. It is open over his bare chest and he has nothing else on but his boxer shorts. His skin is white in the dim light from the street, but his eyes are black and huge with fear. "Mulder, are you hurt?" "Scully?" "Yes, its me. Are you injured, Mulder?" She can hear his breath panting in and out. He is terrified of something. "Are you alone here?" Her earlier panic is gone now. She has slipped easily beneath the guard of her professional persona, letting her training as both a doctor and an FBI agent take over. "Mulder, I'm going to turn on the light so that you can see me, okay?" "Scully, is it really you?" "Yes, Mulder, its me. I'm going to turn on the light." She reaches for the cord without looking and her fingers find the familiar rope. "Scully...but you're..." "I'm here Mulder." The gun wavers in his hand. It seems to heavy for his wrist as it points to the ground. The strip-light overhead flickers to life. The sudden luminosity stuns Mulder and he throws an arm up to cover his face. He cries out and drops to the floor, his gun clattering across the lino. With his arms still over his face, he scrambles backwards into a corner of the bathroom, his back thudding against the tub as he whimpers and moans her name. Scully hurries to him, horrified by his state of distress. She wonders if he is experiencing some kind of mental episode, but is relieved to see no blood on him. She crouches beside him as best she can in the tiny room. She has to lean around the toilet to reach him properly and she can see that he has been sick at least once. Scully suspects drugs and is reminded of Mulder's infamous Ketamine trips. She draws his hands away from his face and ruffles his hair back from his forehead. She is relieved to see no new holes there. Mulder continues to whimper and Scully hushes him, taking his hands and stroking his skin. "Sh, Mulder, I'm here. Its okay now." He is muttering her name over and over, his nose running slightly and tears seeping from his closed eyes. The front of his shirt is wet, as though he has been crying for some time. "Mulder, I'm here, I'm fine." She keeps reassuring him, until his face finally tilts upwards, as though realising she is there for the first time. Scully reaches for a washcloth and begins to wipe his face. "Scully." He whispers. "Yes?" She is relieved that he is able to focus on her face. "You...You were dead." Two Hours Earlier Headlights at full beam paint a white band down the black road. Mulder does not know where he is going, nor the name of the road he is on, but something tells him to keep following the ribbon of blacktop. He cannot remember starting this journey. He is beginning to feel drowsy from the flash of white road-markings and his eyelids are heavy. He can see his hands on the wheel, green in the dash-board light. Dead-man's hands, he thinks as he settles deeper in the warm seat. He still has a long way to go. Long and winding road. It's a long way... Suddenly a figure steps into the path of the car. Mulder slams on the breaks as the figure gets closer, details rapidly flying together until Mulder recognises the face, the open, screaming mouth and outstretched hands. The car stops with a jerk and Donald Eddie Pfaster runs into the night. Mulder's heart stops. This is not happening. This is not happening. He is frozen in his seat, even though his brain is screaming for him to go. Get out of the car and get the fucker! For a nightmarish moment, Mulder is utterly paralysed by fear and disbelief. Even his heaving chest is immobilised, breath caught in his throat, burning and choking him. You're dead. I watched her kill you. Then the shock breaks and he is out and running. The air is cold and brittle in his lungs. Little puffs of air are proof that he is breathing again as he runs in the direction that Pfaster took off in. He is quickly met by dense trees. Mulder slips in slick wet mud and grabs a tree-trunk for support. He moves on with more care, heading deeper into the trees. The light of the car is far behind him by the time he reaches a slight clearing in the thicket. He stays within the cover of the trees, listening for any sound. His skin prickles with nervous energy and he can barely hear over the pounding of the blood in his ears. Branches snap to his left and Mulder flails around in the dark, gun outstretched, a cry stuck in his mouth. A cloud moves and the moon sends a spotlight over the clearing. There is nothing there. Mulder swears as the adrenaline surges and the moon is gone as suddenly as it appeared. If he looks back over his shoulder, Mulder can make out a flash that he believes to be his car. It is parked higgledy-piggeldy in the road with the door open and the key in the ignition. His logical mind tells him to go back and call for backup, but his need to catch Pfaster overrides his sensibilities. Mulder decides to check a little further. Although he keeps a torch inside his jacket, he does not reach for it. He doesn't want Pfaster to know where he is. Mulder inches on, step by step, listening intently for any sound. He hears nothing. The winter woods are eerily silent. Mulder imagines that the bare trees would echo hollowly like a broken xylophone; should a gust of wind breeze through; but the night is cold and still. His mind is alert and focussed on his surroundings, but at the back of his consciousness is the niggling fear that he does not know where he is, and he can no longer see the headlights from his car. The moon slides from behind its veil of cloud. A tall form darts into the clearing, then dashes back beneath the cover of trees. Mulder hurtles after it, but something hidden wraps around his ankle and he is caught. He smashes to the ground as his feet go out from under him and he struggles to free his leg, half-upright and scrambling in the mud. The figure crashing through the bushes retreats and the sound of breaking trees becomes more distant. Then there is the unmistakable roar of a car engine. It revs two, three times, mocking, before light glances through the trees. Though he cannot be certain, Mulder presumes Pfaster has escaped in his car and he is trapped. "FUCK!" Mulder screams into the trees. A terrible feeling surges into his chest; anger mixed with fear, dread, confusion; the emotions combining into a awful cocktail that makes him vomit into the blackness. He continues to yell as panic takes over. He wants to cry at the thought that the killer has got away again; not only from the present situation; but Pfaster has escaped custody before and now he seems to have escaped death too. He saw Pfaster die. He saw the look in his partner's eyes as she squeezed the trigger and blew his brains up the wall and across her coffee table. He helped her re-paper. Mulder cannot think straight as anticipation prickles illogically along his neck, sending the hairs up at the back of his head. Instinct tells him there is worse to come. A surge of terror sends him scrabbling in the mud once more, but his ankle is still bound. Blindly fumbling in the pitch dark, Mulder realises that he has both a torch and a cell phone in his pocket. Stupid. Stupid. His hands are icy and slick with clay and mud and it is difficult to grasp the phone when he finds it. It slips and squelches to the ground so that Mulder has to wipe it on his jacket before he can flip it open. The screen lights up with a welcome glow. "No Signal. Fuck!" Mulder reaches for the Maglight that bounces against his chest from inside his pocket. He shines a pencil of light down towards his ankle. A length of twine is wrapped around his leg, effectively tying him to a prominent tree root. The end is weighted with two spherical rocks, meaning that the trip-wire wrapped itself around him three times as he ran into it. It is a nasty little trap that digs in tighter as Mulder's shaky fingers work it loose. Finally free, Mulder leaps to his feet, feeling marginally calmer now that he is no longer bound. The clearing is small and empty. His heart is still beating too fast and he is uneasy although about what, he doesn't know. Still no signal on the phone, so Mulder starts off across the clearing, heading for what he believes to be the direction back to the road. His eyes flick between the phone display and the arc of light he swings to reveal a pathway through mud and twisted roots. The torch picks out sections of the clearing in shades of grey and Mulder wishes he had grabbed the bigger torch from the glove-compartment. His pocket Maglight picks out only a glimpse at a time. The ground is too wet to hold complete footprints, but Mulder picks out a regular pattern of ruts and smudges, as though someone had run through the clearing. He feels more certain that he is headed towards the road He is busy watching the ground when something solid connects with his forehead. It catches him by surprise and he drops the phone. He stoops to collect it and when he straightens, the swinging object smacks him squarely in the forehead once again. "What the..?" Mulder reaches forward to grab the softly swaying thing and is shocked by how it feels beneath his fingers. It is warm, despite the cold night, and though firm, it has a slightly yielding texture. Skin, his mind supplies and Mulder tears his arm back in horror. Still it sways. Mulder arcs the torchlight upwards as his hand reaches out. The light illuminates a grey surface, starkly streaked with red. Mulder's fingers clasp around it and he realises that the red substance glitters in the light and is sticky to the touch. His unconscious mind has already guessed what the object is, but his consciousness is dulled by shock. He sees the foot, small and dirty with pink painted nail. Time stops as his brain catches up. A slender ankle, a muscular calf and a slightly bent knee. Blood seeps in a stream over smooth skin and drops thickly down. Mulder still grasps the calf, mouth hanging open when it slips free of its suspension and falls. Still he grips the calf, too stupefied to let go and the weight of it surprises him. It bends further as it descends, then its weight pulls it straight again. It has a thigh. Synapses connect and information chases through with breathtaking clarity. Body. Not a body. Just a leg. His hand opens like a claw in a prize-grab game and the blood-spattered stump drops into the mud with a hefty slap. Mulder steps back and holds a hand over his eyes. Sticky blood and mud smear his face but he doesn't care. Even with his eyes closed and covered he can see the leg, sliced cleanly at the thigh, the bone neatly sawn off and smooth at the ends, coated in its own congealing gore. Mulder is used to seeing the most awful sights imaginable, but something about this scene stabs a knife of fear into his gut that terrifies him in a way he cannot explain. The woods seem to close around him and the ground rushes upwards. He slams his eyes closed again, but is still too aware of the leg that rests at his feet. Mulder is dizzy as panic pushes him towards hyperventilation and he blindly reaches for his phone. He dials it despite having no signal and as it rings on the broken, crackly connection, he finds himself staggering backwards hit by a wave of vertigo. A root trips him as he lurches unsteadily and falls hard. The bottom of his spine is suddenly ablaze with pain and the torch flies from his grip. It bounces and rolls, taking with it the only light in the clearing, its glow dimmed by the boggish mud. Mulder knows even without the light that his situation has become infinitely worse. The phone is gone, impossible to locate in the dark and he has dislodged something hideous from another aerial perch and it is on him. Whatever it is, it rests across his chest, rising and falling with his gasping breaths. "Oh...oh...fucking hell..." His panic brings him quickly to the point of tears. His arm is pinned down by the weight of the thing and it is awkward for him to manoeuvre it away with his coat so heavy with mud and rainwater and God knows what else. He shakes it off but his hand connects with the wet end. He recoils and scrambles for the torch. Roots and rocks strike his knees and tear his trousers as he crawls towards the faint beam of light, obscured by leaf-mulch and when he gets close, Mulder realises that it is tangled in a mess of weeds. His fingers fumble and grab to free it until the torch finally comes away in a clutch of ivy stalks. The light darts around as he shakes his hand free. Something glints and catches his eye. The knife of fear twists as an almost preternatural dread fills him. "No..."He inches forward, the light trained on the little flash of gold caught at the base of a tree. "Oh God...No..."It is a necklace and the little cross-pendant slips from the thin gold chain as he lifts it. Mulder stares at it in disbelief and the bottom rushes out of his stomach. He vomits sideways, coughing bile onto his shoes. Adrenalin animates his body and he trains the torch beam back to what appears to be a second leg. Closer, Mulder sees that it has not been treated with the same surgical precision as its counterpart and Mulder's stomach prepares for another evacuation. He chokes it back and stares at the hacked flesh with its worm-like arteries hanging limply. The bone is longer than the wound, snapped and splintered in a compound fracture. The detective part of his brain tells Mulder that an amputation such as this would have taken immense force. The limb is still warm to the touch and the joint is pliable, not yet rigored. Then he remembers the grubby little foot and its painted toenails and he knows. The torch traces down the forlorn limb, slender and white and smeared with blood and wet mud. This one has a shoe at the end, e navy-blue leather court shoe with a chunky high heel. Mulder drops to his knees and howls. 42 Hegal Place Alexandria, V.A. 6:26 a.m. The sun is threatening to rise by the time Scully has coaxed Mulder into the bedroom and onto the bed. He would have preferred the couch, but she has insisted that the bed would be more comfortable for them both to rest. He is supine with his head in her lap, watching the muted television in the corner as she ruffles her fingers through his hair. Her nails make a soft scratching sound as the tease against his scalp. The sensation reminds him oddly of his early childhood, when he was sick and his mother would sit with him. That was in the days before Samantha was gone, when his mother was still a mother. His heart rate is still too high and he is icy cold with shock. Scully cannot imagine what triggered such a vivid dream. It seems to have been more of a hallucination than a nightmare, his rampaging through the apartment correlating with his staggering in the dream. It is apparent that he called Scully in his sleep, and he cannot remember making it as far as the bathroom to vomit. His mind is blank between finding her body in the clearing and waking sweating and panicked in the shower stall. He feels dizzy and a little sick, so he closes his eyes. He turns his face into the denim of her jeans and it is completely dark with his eyes pressed against her leg. She murmurs down to him, encouraging him to sleep. Scully stills her hand against his head, glad that he has finally closed his eyes. "Mmm...don't stop." He mumbles against her leg and she feels the vibrations. She chuckles and begins sifting through the strands again. Mulder is exhausted and feeling slightly warmer with his head in her lap. Finally, Mulder sleeps. xxx Mulder wakes, screaming. Scully is beside him, propped against the headboard and the sound of his tortured cries wrenches her out of a light sleep with his name on her lips. Mulder has worked himself halfway down the bed and is level with her lower body. As she moves to comfort him, he wraps his arms around her thigh, clinging it to her chest so tightly that it is painful. He is crying and wailing her name, tears running down his cheeks from his closed eyes. He is rocking slightly and Scully pauses, worried that waking him may do more damage than good. As she hesitates, his cheekbone comes to rest against her kneecap and he lets out a juddering sigh. "Oh...God..." His voice cracks and the sound that comes from him is barely human. His grip on her leg is beyond painful as he rocks back and forth and Scully cannot leave him a second longer. She slides a hand over his forehead, feeling him burning hot and slick with sweat, yet shivering at the same time. His dream has sent his body into shock once again. She runs her hands over his cheeks and down his arms, calling his name, trying to rouse him as gently as possible. She shakes his arm gently and hears him gasp. His eyes fly open and he knocks her back, sitting bolt upright and jumping from the bed. He is utterly disorientated. The dream lasted longer this time. He has a strange feeling of dj-vu but he cannot understand where he is. Just a second ago he was in a forest with Dana Scully's dismembered body. Blood rushes to his head and dizziness topples him to the bed. When he looks up, he is gazing into Scully's concerned face. It is too much for him. He jumps back, knocking a pile of washing to the ground and sliding on a stack of files. He catches his balance and backs up as far as he can go, never taking his eyes off of her. Scully kneels on the bed, frozen, not knowing what to do. Her arms are out in front of her, as though Mulder were still bent over the bed. "Mulder it was a dream. You're okay, it was a dream." She speaks slowly and clearly, settling back onto her heels. Mulder continues to stare. "A dream, Mulder, its okay." Mulder nods slowly, as though he understands, but he is still having a hard time connecting reality to the horrors of his nightmare. His chest is still heavy with grief, he can still feel the wet warmth of her blood on him, the weight of her leg across his body. But it wasn't real. It was all in his mind. Suddenly it all makes sense. It wasn't real. Scully isn't dead. He wasn't too late and Pfaster isn't alive. Relief floods in, the antidote to the pain that threatened to rip him apart there on the ground of his nightmare forest. He feels it retreat, but the grief hovers at the back of his mind, too real to be utterly banished. Before he knows what he is doing, he is on the bed and wrapped around his partner. Scully feels her breath rush out as Mulder hits her. He is suddenly beneath her, on top of her, and all around her and she cannot breathe. She struggles to loosen his grip, panic starting to edge in. She calls out and he lets her go, embarrassed. She shuffles quickly back, eyes wide and mouth open. "I thought you were dead, Scully." He rolls onto his back, the relief gone from his face as memory captures his mind. He shudders and Scully moves back towards him. She reaches for his hand but he pulls it away and covers his eyes with it. The action takes him back to the forest, he is smeared with gore again and the air that fills his lungs is cold. Then he hears her voice and the flash is gone. "Shit." He shakes his head as though to clear it and goes to put his hand up again. He drops it to the mattress. Scully takes it this time and he raises his head to look at her, as though surprised to see her. She doesn't speak but scoots closer instead. She doesn't know what to say beyond murmuring his name and stroking his forehead as she did before. Mulder pats the bed beside him and she pauses before lying down on her side, her body a safe distance from his. She wants to help him, to make it okay, but the look on his face makes her uncertain of what it is that he wants. Scully is shocked when Mulder closes the gap, rolling up onto his side so that they are face to face, his breath on her cheek. Electricity sparks between them and her eyes are drawn to his mouth. Mulder sees it as her lips part and a crease appears between her brows. Scully looks into his face and sees a real fear that speaks to her in a way that only Mulder's emotions could. She nods, understanding that he needs to be close to her now. His intensity frightens her somehow, but she forces her frown away, evening out her face and pushing her uncertainties away. He needs her to be strong and she cannot afford to complicate things with errant fears and misplaced desires. She cannot look at him as she pushes her feelings down. She unconsciously licks her top lip and stares at a point over his shoulder. She hears his breath sigh in and out, preparing to speak and it makes her wince. She should be the one saying something profoundly comforting, but she cannot think of anything to say. He is higher on the bed than she is and even lying down his presence overwhelms her. She feels tiny in the shadow of his hulking form as she waits for him to speak. But he doesn't speak. Instead, his hands reach over for her, sliding up her arms and over her shoulders. Scully's mouth opens in surprise as his fingers push up and into her hair, sweeping it back from her face. His long arms embrace her as his hands rest against her scalp and Mulder rests his face so close that their noses touch. His leg lifts and settles over hers, cocooning her with his body. Scully is frowning again and cannot stop looking at his mouth. His physical proximity is almost too much for her and she stiffens, wanting to run. His cold skin reminds her that he is in shock, reminds her that this is Mulder, that he needs her. She stays, forcing herself to relax. Mulder isn't sure what he is doing. The dream has affected him more profoundly than any of the hundreds of nightmare he has had in the past and he cannot quite shake the disquiet from his mind. It clings like cobwebs to his consciousness and he still feels the solid weight of her thigh in his hand. He shivers and feels her hands come up to press against his chest. Scully feels him tremble against her and the fear goes out of her. This is Mulder. He needs her. She rises up and his hands release her. She settles flush against him and strokes his cheek. He sighs and closes his eyes, eyelids fluttering against his cheeks. Suddenly, the words come to her. "Mulder, I'm here. Everything is the way it has always been. I'm here, safe. Pfaster is dead." Her nose bumps his and he smiles. "You are safe. You're safe with me." She wraps her arms around him, each shifting to accommodate the other. "I need you, Scully. I can't be without you." Mulder hasn't spoken beyond his garbled dream-speak and Scully feels her heart break to hear his husky voice, raw from shouting. "Don't leave me." His mouth is turned down at the corners, a sad little pout turning out his bottom lip. "I won't leave you, I couldn't." Mulder nods, believing her and nuzzles his face into her neck. The heat of his earlier touch is gone, now she sees that he simply needs to be held. He is a little boy who was never loved enough and she hugs him close, gathering his long body into her arms. Mulder tilts his face, wanting to feel her pulse beat beneath her skin. He feels the throb against his lips as he presses a single long kiss beneath her jaw. Scully feels the warmth of his mouth and brings her hand to his hair. She holds her face against his cheek and he can feel the butterfly flicker of her eyelashes. He closes his eyes against the grey light of impending dawn. It is too late for sleep now and he is grateful that the night is over. He threads his fingers into her hair once more, feeling its weight as he flips it away from her face. She shuffles further down the bed and into his arms. He needs to feel her against him. Her eyes are light in the pre-dawn and the frown is back. He brings his forehead to rest against hers and she smells clean and fresh. Her hair falls over his face as he releases her, relaxing into her. He feels light-headed, yet his limbs ache. "Sleep, Mulder." He feels her lips move against his collarbone and he closes his eyes. Mulder sleeps.